When I Look to the Sky
by LovinCopperpot
Summary: Aletta Darling was looking forward to her seventh year at Hogwarts - she was going to be Head Girl and, "Live up the fruits of her labor." Too bad McGonagal found out she doesn't know how to use a broom. Wood/OC
1. Prologue

Minerva drew in a deep breath as she sat down, dropping a large folder onto the table in front of her. Around her, she could feel her staff tense at the size, but no one dared to question their agenda.

"Welcome to the annual staff-meeting," Minerva droned, already wishing that she had opted to skip this year; these would never feel the same without Albus. "I believe we all know the first order of business?"

Around her, the Heads of Houses nodded and retrieved pieces of parchment from their robes, Professor Sprout being the first to speak, "All of my students are on their way to graduation."

Next was Professor Hagrid, now the Head of Gryffindor, "Yup, mine are all doin' just fine."

After him was Professor Wiggins, the new Potions master and Head of Slytherin, "I have one concern with a girl in my batch, but I'm meeting with her next week to tie things up. I'll give you a report on it by next Wednesday."

Minerva nodded, liking what she was hearing, but then frowned at the missing voice, "Professor Flitwick? Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all," the short man replied, his bushy eyebrows furrowed as he started at his paper.

"Is one of your students NOT on their way to graduation?"

"Well, I'm trying to remember if taking the flying class is required to graduate..."

"It is," Minerva answered, feeling sorry for her colleague. He was getting rather old and his memory was starting to falter.

"Then yes, I have one girl who might not graduate this year; she never took the required flying course."

Minerva was, quite frankly, confused at this; why would Albus not schedule this girl for her flying lessons?

"What is her name?"

"Darling, Aletta Darling."

"Oh, I know 'er," Hagrid called suddenly before breaking into a deep laugh, "Well, that makes things a 'ole lot clearer, now, don' it?"

"Hagrid, will you care to explain?" Minerva asked, glancing at the burly man over her glasses, which she had retrieved when she started to flip through her student-book.

"She's an animagus; she turns into a bird! She can already fly!"

His deep laugh filled the room again as Minerva whispered the girl's name, flipping open the small, thin book to find the girl's records. She sighed when she found that what Hagrid had said was right; Dumbledore had made a note on her file that she was an animagus and had not been required to take flying lessons. The question now, would Minerva allow her to graduate?

"Well, Minerva," Flitwick asked, glancing at her earnestly; Ravenclaw never had ANY problems with its students and whether or not they graduated. More often there was an issue with sixth years who had taken extra courses, filled their requirements, and wanted to graduate a year early.

"I suppose she has to take the lessons, she simply cannot go out into the wizarding world without knowing how to use a broom."

And then suddenly, the room broke into hysterics. Teachers were yelling all sorts of things at each other, and Minerva wasn't quite sure why. Suddenly, when Albus died, everyone started fighting over everything.

"But when will she take these lessons?"

"Won't she be ridiculed by her classmates if they find out?"

"Madame Hooch just retired, who will teach this girl?"

"QUIET!" Minerva glared around the room at her teachers, slightly ashamed to head such a quarrelsome lot, "She'll take the lessons privately, and we'll let it be her choice to tell people. As for who will be teaching her, I've found a replacement for Madame Hooch-"

The door opened behind her, shutting a second later with a loud thunk. Everyone turned in their seats to see the late-comer, a slightly disheveled young man with half a powdered-donut in his mouth.

His voice came out thickly-accented in Scottish as he looked around the room and swallowed the rest of the pastry, "Hello, sorry I'm late."


	2. Bouncing Off the Walls Again

_The road is dark_

_That's the first thing I notice, is how dark the road is. It seems quite unreasonable, it being pitch black. How late can it be, anyway?_

_Suddenly, a boy grabs my hand, and though he is only vaguely familiar, I trust him as he leads me down the street, crouching behind bushes and turning back to tell me to be quiet every now and then. His hand is sweaty, and when he finally lets go of my hand I realize how warm it had been, as well._

_Glancing around the lawn he has lead me to, he stands straight, motioning for me to do the same. He's much taller than me, I realize, and I have to crane my neck back to meet his gaze. His hand, which is still sweaty, comes up to cradle my face, and he's staring into my eyes with an intensity I've never seen._

_"Are you sure about this, Al," he asks in a deep accent I can't recognize, but I nod._

_"I have to do it," I respond._

_The boy nods before swooping down, capturing me in a deep kiss. His right hand, the one not cupping my face, pulls me closer to him, so I can feel his heartbeat in my own chest, and I'm surprised to find it beating so fast._

_He pulls away as an indigo light flashes from the house in front of us, breathless but still clinging to me; but I shouldn't talk, my hands are wrapped around his neck and I don't plan on letting go anytime soon. Four more lights flashed in succession from the house, first a maroon, then a peach, followed by red, and finally silver._

_"Ally, you need to go."_

_I nod, but move back in for another kiss. But he pulls away again._

_"No, Ally, wake up."  
"What," I question, my eyes still closed._

"WAKE UP!"  
My eyes flutter open and I'm face-to-face with my pillow, which I have clutched in front of me. "Jay?"  
"Yeah, sleeping beauty, time to get ready. Dad says you have to leave for the station in twenty minutes."

I peaked passed my pillow just in time to see my brother walking out of my room, still in his pajamas. I groaned as what he said hit me, SCHOOL! I had barely packed, not to mention I have no clue where the school supplies I had bought a month ago were.

But twenty minutes later and I'm smiling bracingly, my trunk clutched in one hand and my bag in the other. Sparrow slept soundly on the kitchen counter, where I had put him ten minutes ago because he was trying to eat my toast.

My father laughed, his brown eyes twinkling with joy as he looked me over, my hair knotted and messy under my signature hat and my breath still stinking of the hot chocolate that my father insisted I drink. Why? Because 'hot drinks make for a hardy woman.'

"So, how much will I be sending you this year?" He pulled me into a hug as my brother slid down the railing, grabbing my bag off of my shoulder and slipping in my toothbrush.  
I laughed, "For once, not my toothbrush. Thanks Jay," I said, detaching from my father and reattaching to my brother.  
He let a small laugh rise in his throat as he handed my bag to my dad, who took it along with my trunk to the front door, "No problem, Ally."  
"Now Ally, I want you to work hard this year; this year is what really matters. I know I say that every year, but it's true every year." My father then broke into the 'work hard, play little' speech that he rattles off every year while I just sit there, nodding and sometimes getting into little wrestling matches with my brother.  
"And don't get a boyfriend," my brother finished for my father, and I laughed at my father, who seemed taken aback by this new rule. Jay shrugged, "What? They'll distract her from her studies!"  
My father rolled his eyes before drawing me into another bone-crushing hug, "You know the policy on boys, sweetie."  
"Yes, daddy," I said, smiling up at him as I wriggled out of his grasp. "I have to go now or I'll miss the train."  
My father smiled sadly, "I love you." I took a hold of my trunk and slung my messenger bag over my shoulder, nodding as he gave me some last minute advisories. "And don't be afraid to talk to people just because of your accent-"

I rolled my eyes, seven years and NOW he tells me to not be afraid of letting my accent show. You see, my family is British; always has been. But my father also loves America, so every summer, from the minute I get out of school to a week before I am due back at school I am in the good old U.S. of A.

And, since my mother literally apparated to the house on the beach, then immediately to the hospital to give birth to me, I grew up with the most Americanized accent as well.

"Good-bye, dad. Bye Jay," I said, rolling my eyes before making a kissing sound, "Sparrow?"

My cat shot out of the kitchen, leaping onto the top of my trunk and then onto my shoulder. And with a loud crack and the unpleasant feeling of apparation, I was at Platform 9 ¾, the train whistle nearly scaring me off balance.

I hurried onto the train, pushing through overly-excited second years and first years in mid-panic attack. I then threw my stuff into the first empty compartment and set off again through the train in hopes of finding my friends.

Success could be found around ten minutes later, when I followed the loud laugh that I recognized to be Siren's. "Hey," I called as I threw open the door.  
"Al," Siren called, tackling me back into the hallway and pinning me against the wall.  
I laughed, "Siren!"  
"Excuse me?" A deep Scottish accent called in my ear, and it was then that I realized that the wall was moving.  
"Siren," I slapped her arm, "Genius." I turned, breaking her grasp on me and taking a step away from the boy I had slammed into the wall, meaning to apologize before my breath caught in my throat.

This man was, to say the least, GORGEOUS. And I found it strange that I only felt a tiny bit of recognition, though I'm pretty up to date about everyone and what they've been up to. I also found it kind of weird that he seemed to be just a few years older than me, definitely not old enough to be a professor.

"Sorry," I finally mumbled as the man rushed away, brushing off his shoulders.  
Once he was out of earshot, Siren gripped my arm, almost falling to the ground she was laughing so hard, "OH MY GOD!"

Normally, this is the point where I would join her on the ground, collapsing into a mound of giggles and tears and stomach cramps from laughing too hard. But I could still make out the faintest outline of the man's broad shoulders before he turned into a compartment.

I smiled, though, as I looked down at my best friend, her face flushed from laughing so hard at her blunder, "Siren, you've lost your mind."  
"You drove me crazy, not my fault," she responded as she half-walked, half-crawled back into the compartment.

I took my seat as I followed her in, smiling at my friends as they tried to scoot around and make room. There is the problem with these trains; they don't take into account the groups of friends who exceed four people, as we do.

I finally gave up trying to squeeze in between Siren and Penny and sat on the ground, leaning against the wall and drawing my legs up to my chin, "So, how was everyone's summer?"

That was all we needed to get a conversation going. Everyone was talking to each other, all of the sudden, and what one person had to say was always more important than what the other did, so it wasn't long before we were all shouting and laughing, making quite a ruckus.

We jumped when someone banged at our compartment door, but it was Susan who finally answered, "Yes?"  
Professor Wiggins stuck his head in the door, glaring at each of us in turn before whispering his message, "You five are so loud that you'll wake the dead. And why are there five of you?"

We all looked around at each other in turn for a moment before shrugging.

"You, Darling, stand up, you're coming with me."  
"Why, professor, I don't think pet names are really all that appropriate," I heard a Scottish accent call from outside, and the door opened fully to reveal the man from before, "You, there, what is your name?"  
He was staring right at me, but I, for whatever reason, was not quite sure he was talking to me, "Me?"  
He smiled, "Yes, you."  
"Darling, sir, Aletta Darling."  
"There, you see, if you don't know her name... Darling?"  
I blushed, "Yes sir."  
"Well, err, carry on, then," he said, the faintest pink tinting his cheeks as he closed the compartment door, saving me from any disciplinary action that could be taken by Professor Wiggins, who did I mention despises me? He despises everyone, really, even people in his own house. Makes me almost miss Snape.

As soon as we heard the pair's footsteps fade away, everyone else burst out laughing.

"Me?" Willow mimicked before breaking into another fit of giggles.  
"Aw, Ally, you're so smart! Playing it sweet for the new teacher!"  
"It's the Ravenclaw in her, makes her ingratiate herself!"  
"Careful there, Willow, don't use such big words!"  
"Hey," said Siren, noticing my lack of laughter, "You okay?"  
"Huh," I said, coming out of my zone-fest.  
"You feeling okay, Al? You didn't laugh in the hallway when we ran into the guy, though I think it was highly amusing, and now you're all not confident and zoney."  
"I think Aly is in love," Willow crooned, smiling evilly at me.  
I rolled my eyes and let me head fall back, "Oh God, help me."  
"Aly," Ginny Weasly questioned, leaning in through the door.  
Well, if she's what you got... "Yes, Ginny?"  
"You're needed in the Prefects train," she responded, smiling lightly at me, "Forget the meeting?"  
I blushed as I stood, slipping by her into the hallway, "Thanks, Gin."

She smiled and she and I continued to make light conversation as we made our way through the train, stopping for a moment to buy sweets from the Trolley. I bought her a chocolate frog to make up for forgetting the Prefects Meeting and as a sort of apology. Everyone had been so sure that she'd be Head Girl and I couldn't help but be embarrassed that I had taken the title from her, especially since she obviously was more serious about it than I was.

But then again, who wants to be so serious? This is my last year of school, and I've spent the last six years of my life here trying to break the stereotype that Ravenclaws are boring and geeky. Can't I live up the fruits of my labor a little?

"Ah, finally, our two leading ladies grace us with their presence."  
"Shut up, Tom," Ginny spat back as she took her designated seat next to the newest Gryffindor prefect, who looked positively terrified. She smiled encouragingly at the young girl and introduced herself quietly as Tom, the head boy and prefect from Slytherin, slipped a file across the table to me.  
I caught it and flipped it open, starting to read with authority, "Right, letter from the Headmistress: To all seventh years, we would like to remind you that although some of you may be an adult legally, you are still under Hogwarts rule. This means to keep your hormones in check. Any student found in the midst of sexual activity will be promptly disciplined and possible expelled. A list of the approved conduct of students will please be posted on the Common Room Boards."  
"Nervous," I heard Tom sneer as he stood next to me, sorting quickly through his own papers for a moment before handing out the list for posting.  
I glanced up at him, shaking my hair out of my eyes, "What have I got to be nervous about? Sharing a dorm with you will be very unattractive cake."  
"Yank," he responded, glaring at me before continuing with his first announcement.  
I rolled my eyes and whispered as I looked over my next announcement, "Oh, this WILL be fun." I then continued with my announcement, growing more confused as I read it and wondering why I was getting all the sex announcements. "Another letter from the Headmistress: Students are to be reminded that relations with a teacher are intolerable. Prefects are asked to keep a special eye on their older students and to please patrol the outside of the castle more closely, especially the Quidditch Pitch." My brows furrowed as I slipped the announcement behind my others, "Cause you know, Professor Wiggins is just so sexy."  
Everyone laughed, but it cut off as I heard a throat clear behind me. "Miss Darling?"  
"Why, Professor Wiggins, fancy meeting you here," I said, turning and leaning against the table.

My smile was quite obviously forced, but Tom was beaming next to me, overly proud to be in the presence of the teacher who loved him. Remember when I said Professor Wiggins hated everyone? Well, Tom is an exception. Professor Wiggins thinks of Tom as a prodigy, a star among many dull, dull planets. Which just makes the lot of us feel great, by the way.

The professor scowled at me before continuing, "McGonagall wanted me to make sure you had the password to the Head's room."  
I smiled as I pulled a piece of paper out of my pocket, "Check."  
"And Tom," Professor Wiggins smiled, turning to my partner for the year, "You have it as well?"  
Tom smiled, standing up straight as if making me seem shorter somehow made him special, "Yes I do, Professor."  
"Good boy," the Professor said, clapping him on the shoulder. He then turned to me disdainfully, "Darling, where is your uniform?"  
I sighed, "In my trunk."  
"And where is your trunk?"  
"In a compartment, sir."  
"Ten points off for not having on your uniform." And with that, he turned and left.  
I sighed and turned back to the table, my arms tensed from holding back the urge to kill my Potions master. I waited until I heard the door close before speaking again, "Roberts, what is my name?"  
The sixth year Ravenclaw prefect smiled as he recited the answer, "Aletta Darling."  
"Ten points for not being an idiot," I said, smirking to myself. I then continued to whisper, "Yes, this will be fun indeed."


	3. Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have

I sighed as I slipped onto the edge of the Hufflepuff table, smiling at Carry as I gave her a quick hug, "Hey

I sighed as I slipped onto the edge of the Hufflepuff table, smiling at Siren as I gave her a quick hug, "Hey."

"Hey," she responds, not minding that I'm at her table. I always am, "Why weren't you in the carriages?"  
"I had to get my trunk from this poor little group of first years," I explained, "And then change again before Professor Wiggins saw me."

"Did he catch you without your uniform on at the meeting," Penny questioned, smirking at me.

"Yes, if you must know," I said, "And I had to give Roberts ten points for knowing my name to make-up for it."

Siren laughed, but even her voice died as the First Years walked in a row in front of us, backs straight and smiling nervously.

"Well, that was... invigorating," Headmistress McGonagall said, clapping her hands together as she observed her students before launching into her before-school speech. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, everyone-"

"Hey," Penny kicked my foot under the table, "What's his name, up there, next to Hagrid?"

I followed her eyes to the staff table, where the handsome man who'd saved me from Professor Wiggins was sitting, "I don't know."

"You didn't get a memo telling you the name of your lover?"

I kicked her as McGonagall's voice took a different tone, signifying that she was done with the normal announcements, " I would like to welcome our new Flying Instructor, Professor Wood."

The man stood up at the end of the table, and Siren giggled, "Wood. How much must he be made fun of for that last name?"

"Shh, I think I know that name," I trailed off, deep in thought.

"Professor Wood will be replacing Madame Hooch, who we all know retired last year. This means he will be teaching flying lessons," Professor McGonagall continued, "As well as refereeing the Quidditch games. Some of you may also remember him as the Gryffindor Quidditch captain from a few years ago."

"That's it," I whispered, smacking the table.

"What's it?"

"I got into a fight with him once about how stupid Quidditch was," I informed my friends, reliving the day quite clearly.

"Like, a fist fight?" Siren questioned her eyes wide as she glanced up at the table to size up our new Professor.

"Yeah, that was my first detention, I was so angry at him," I whispered harshly. How could I have forgotten?

"And what year were you?" Penny questioned.  
"Second, I think."

"And he was?" Siren bit her lip as food suddenly appeared in front of us.

"Seventh," I said quietly, squirming under the amazed stares of my friends.

"Who won," Siren finally asked, breaking the silence by reaching for the pitcher of pumpkin juice.

"I was a second year and he was a Quidditch-playing macho-jerk seventh year idiot, who do you think won," I snapped.

"Well, you kind of have that stare where you can make people quiver and shake in fear, so maybe you," Penny said thoughtfully.

I smirked, "Yeah, but he was so dead set against hitting a girl I'm not sure it was fair."

Siren laughed and Penny smiled for a moment before launching into what we were going to do to make this year the best ever. But I found my eyes eerily attracted to the young new teacher, and blushed when I found him looking back at me once.

"Oh," Penny said, catching my blush, "Ally's definitely got a CRUSH!"

"Will you be quiet? He's a PROFESSOR, for goodness sake," I said, glancing around to see if anyone had heard.

"Yeah, but he's only, what, twenty-one? Twenty-two? That isn't too big a difference, especially since you're an adult now, according to the wizarding world," Siren reasoned.

"Exactly, and I'm sure they'd make an exception to that 'no teacher/student relationships' rule when they see how you lust after him," Penny teased.

"I do not lust," I cried as the food in front of me vanished away.

"I beg to differ," I heard a deep voice say, and I scowled as I recognized it.  
"Tom, will you leave, please," I asked, standing and turning to face him. It was awkward, though, to be standing between the table and the bench while you're trying to glare down someone who is an eighth giant.

"Temper, temper, just thought you'd want an escort to our new home."

"It isn't a house, Tom," I said, sighing, "And I've got other things to tend to anyway."

"Like what," he questioned, smiling.

"RAVENCLAWS! THIS WAY," I shouted, smiling as Tom jumped. "RAVENCLAWS, IF YOU'LL JUST FOLLOW ME!"

I groaned as I fell down onto my bed, which I had just spent the last half-hour decorating. I crawled desperately up to my pillow, snuggling into its warmth and glad that classes would not start for another two days. Sparrow purred as she curled up at the foot of my bed, and I smiled at her before closing my eyes, pulling the covers over me.

Suddenly, I was pulled out of my light dozing with a loud bang. I looked around, confused until I saw the open door. I rolled my eyes, feeling a slight breeze on my arm from my open window and passing it off that I hadn't closed my door tightly enough.

"Was it worth it," I heard a voice question suddenly, and I looked around my room fearfully. But, seeing no one, I curled back under my covers and continued to try to sleep. "You'll never do better," a voice whispered, and I jumped, feeling the breath of the voice on my ear.

I pushed myself into a sitting position, "Hello?"

"Did you think about me when he, well." The voice trailed off as I felt a hand start to rub my leg through my blankets.

But my mind was slowly piecing everything together, "Tom?"

"Could he really have been that much better than me?"

"Tom, look, you know I'm sorry, but it was time for it to end," I said sadly, glancing around the room nervously.

All of the sudden, Tom appeared on the corner of my bed, his Invisibility Cloak thrown carelessly to the ground, "Who are you to say that?"

"Tom, we were together for two years, and I'm sorry, but it just wasn't working," I said. "I really am sorry you had to find out the way you did, but I don't think-"

Suddenly, I felt familiar lips on my own and, being me, I panicked a little. I pulled away, only barely hearing Sparrow hissing at Tom before pushing him off of me fully and jumping out of the nearest thing - the window.

I could feel the squelching of my bones rearranging themselves as I spread my arms and concentrated, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach as Tom yelled to me, "I'LL GET YOU BACK, DARLING!"

But as I flapped my wings and flew towards the lake, I could barely hear the echo of my window slamming shut. My heart was racing as I dove for the ground, sticking my claws out in front of me and landing just in front of the lake.

The anklet I wore was beeping wildly, warning me that this was an illegal time to use my Animagus form, but I ignored it as I started to, uncomfortably, change back into my human form. This was my least favorite part of becoming a falcon, the changing part. Bird's bone structure is just so different from our own, and the whole growing air bubbles in the bone is not exactly pleasing.

I shook my head as I fell to my hands, clutching the grass and waiting for my eyes to come back into focus. When I could clearly make out the grass and the dirt and bugs crawling IN the grass and dirt, I sat back on my heels.

Where was I supposed to go now? Ten to one Tom is waiting in the little hallway that leads to our rooms, maybe in his Invisibility Cloak, maybe planning to do something much more sinister than give me a kiss.

Didn't he know I KNEW I had screwed up? I didn't WANT him to find me like that, but how was I supposed to know he was coming to visit? It had been over so long before that, he had to have known...

I sighed as I slipped through the party; bodies were meshing against mine and making me smile. I led a boy along behind me, who may or may not have been named Rick. I couldn't see straight, but I didn't care. Rick wasn't pretty, but he didn't have to be. He made me laugh and he seemed nice enough.

The next thing I could remember was us on the couch, wildly pressed against each other and attached at the lips. And then, somehow, Tom was there. His eyes watered as he watched me make-out with a boy I barely knew, but I didn't feel much pity. He hadn't been exactly faithful; I just had never proved it or called him on it. I thought part of loving him was accepting his flaws.

I found out later that he had come to surprise me for my birthday, that he had bought me a necklace and had worked hard to convince his parents to let him come and stay. And yeah, I did feel bad that he went through all that, and I definitely had wanted to tell him that I wasn't sure of my feelings for him in a different way, but what could I do now?

Sighing, I brought myself to full height, walking back towards the castle with surprising determination. My anklet was still beeping, but it had quieted down and it stopped as I stumbled into the Great Hall.

I glared at the prefect who had been patrolling, "And how, pray tell, did I get out?"  
The poor fifth Hufflepuff stuttered his answer, "B-Because I let you?"

"Yes. Five points from Hufflepuff." I staggered towards the stairs down to the Hufflepuff Common Rooms.

"Uh, you're not allowed in those Common Rooms," he called after me.

"Five points to Hufflepuff, then, for knowing the rules," I growled, and nearly fell through the portrait and onto the yellow couch I had spent the night on before.

But, knowing that the house would be quite confused to wake up and see me, a Ravenclaw and the Head Girl, on their couch on the first night, I dragged my sorry butt up the stairs and into the seventh year girls' dorm.

"Siren," I called sleepily; changing takes so much out of me.

"Here," she said, not questioning my presence in her dorm. As Head Girl, I know all of the passwords into the Houses and I've spent the night before. She made a sound of recognition as I slipped into her bed with her, "Bad dream?"  
"Bad roommate," I corrected, turning so that our backs were facing each other.

"Sleep tight," she said, ignoring what I had said.

I sighed in content as I felt my entire body relax, but still couldn't find it in me to stop thinking and fall asleep. I tried desperately every trick I knew; concentrating on breathing, clearing my mind, I counted three thousand, nine hundred and twenty-six sheep, for heaven's sake! But I just got this bad feeling in my stomach when I heard Tom's words repeat in my mind; he'll get me back.

How would he do that? Attack me? Attack my brother? Each scenario I dreamed up became progressively worse as the night went on, and I finally fell into a fitful sleep sometime around dawn.

And as I yawned, pulling myself out of bed and stumbling through the halls towards my room, I couldn't help but think about how this would NOT help the Potions report I still have to write.


	4. Not Ready to Make Nice

I yawned as I sat there a week later, stretching as the sun shined through my window

I yawned as I sat there a week later, stretching as the sun shined through my window. There hadn't been one incident with Tom since the first night, and I had convinced Willow to cast a protection charm on my room. Accordingly, I slept quite soundly.

I smiled as I grabbed a towel, running into my bathroom and turning on the shower. Without a second thought, I started to strip my clothing before I heard, "Whoa!"

I screamed at the sound and jumped into the shower, which was still quite cold, "WHAT THE HELL?"  
"Uh, I think I'll wait to use the shower," a deep voice responded.

"Tom," I asked angrily, though the accent was all wrong.

"No, no, I'll just-" I heard a door close, and I peaked out of my shower to notice, for the first time, a second doorway, just passed the shower.

"Well, that's odd," I thought to myself; I had been sure that I got my OWN bathroom as Head Girl. And it was even more odd that I was sharing my bathroom with a _boy._

Willow laughed as I recited the incident as our group sat under a tree outside of Hogwarts. "So, there is a dude, whom you don't know, who saw you naked this morning?"

"I was not NAKED, I was just lacking a shirt," I defended.

"And a bra," Susan giggled.

"I had a bra," I laughed, taking a bite out of the toast I had swiped from the Great Hall.

The conversation continued, but I was distracted by a letter that had just been dropped into my lap. No one took notice as I slipped my finger under the seal, taking another bite of my bread before reading over the note.

_Dear Miss Darling,_

_Please report to my office immediately._

_Headmistress McGonagall_

I rolled my eyes; Professor McGonagall wasn't one for long, drawn-out letters. She preferred the suspense of 'Am I in trouble?' "Hey, guys, I gotta jet." I stood, grabbing my messenger bag off of the ground and brushing off my bum as I stretched.

"What's up," Willow questioned, looking slightly bored at the conversation that Penny and Susan were still carrying on.  
"Head Girl stuff, I suppose," I shrugged.

"Oh, you're so special," Siren said, rolling her eyes. "Come on, I'll walk you to her office."

"Thank you kindly," I said, smiling as we hooked arms and started up to the castle.

"So, what has been up? How are your classes? Tell me everything that has happened this week," I said, grinning at her. She wasn't in many of my classes with me, and I wanted to know EVERYTHING.

"Well, I've been talking to a boy," she admitted, blushing a little.

I grinned at her, "A boy?"

"Yeah," she said, giggling as we started through the Entrance Hall, suits of armor standing at attention before us.

"Do I get to know who this boy is," I questioned, smirking as we started up the stairways and the killer-climb to the seventh floor.

"Not yet, not until I'm sure that it's going to be something," she smiled.

I pouted, "Secrets, secrets, are no fun, unless you tell them to ME," I joked.

Siren laughed, "No, seriously, no use getting your hopes up." She mumbled something under her breath, but I chose to ignore it and let Siren have her secret-fun.

"Okay," I said as we arrived at the third floor and rounded the steps for the fourth, "But the moment that this becomes ANYTHING I want to know."

"Deal," Siren said, smiling, "What about you? Any new boy news in your life?"

I thought for a moment about telling her about Tom's threat, which I still hadn't told her about. But I shook my head, not wanting to spoil her fun.

"Nope."

"Oh, still hung up on the Flying teacher," she teased, "Professor WOOD?"

"Ew, God, will you never give that up?" I questioned, laughing in spite of myself.

"Probably not," she admitted as we finally reached the seventh floor.

"Fine. I'll come back and meet you guys at the tree when I'm done, okay?"

"Okay," Siren said, giving me a hug and turning to descend the stairs as I started down the hallway.

"Iguana," I said confidently as I reached the statue, timing it perfectly so that I stepped on the first step as it started to rise. I've done this so many times I could do it with my eyes closed. I waited for a moment or two until the wooden door to McGonagall's office stood in front of me, and then I knocked.

"Come in, Aletta," I heard McGonagall call, and I stepped inside the office.

"Good morning, Professor," I said, taking a seat in one of the many chairs that sat in front of her desk.  
"Good morning, Aletta," she responded briskly, clapping her hands together and sitting behind her desk. She shuffled through papers for a moment before she found the one she was looking for, "I'm sorry to say that your visit is not of the happiest nature."

"What's wrong," I asked, my nose wrinkling and my hand went up to tug at the ends of my hair. "Is my family okay?"

"Yes, yes, your family is fine. But it seems that when you were in your First Year, you did not take your Flying Lessons."

"No, Dumbledore said that I wouldn't have to since I could already fly," I said, not quite clear on what this had to do with anything.

"Yes, well, as wise as Dumbledore was, I feel that it is necessary for you to know how to use a broom. The Flying Lessons are mandatory to graduation, whether you need them or not."

"Oh," I said, my eyes falling to the ground.

"Now, I know you have a rather busy schedule-"

"I don't have a free class, that's right."

_"Yes,_ and I hope that you'd spend most of your after school time getting done homework and fulfilling your Head Girl duties."

I gulped under McGonagall's stare, squirming a little. My last-minute homework habit was well known, but usually no one called me on it since my work was always decent-quality anyway. At least, when it needs to be it is.

"Therefore, I've set up a special time for you to have your lessons, privately." McGonagall then handed me the slip of paper she had found earlier, now folded in half, "Your first lesson is tonight. You are to meet Professor Wood by the Quidditch Pitch."

I nodded as I took the slip of paper in my hands, "Thank you, Professor... Am I dismissed?"

"Yes, go," McGonagall sighed and I didn't waste any time in running off, wondering how I'd slip away from my friends.

I pulled my cloak tighter around myself as I looked around; night had fallen, but I could still tell that the clouds were heavy with rain. A cold wind blew around me, and I knew that I wouldn't be flying tonight.

None the less, I was still standing here, outside of a locked Quidditch Pitch, shivering and angry at my new teacher; Professor Wood fellow was ten minutes late! I groaned as I started to feel rain drizzle down, wishing that the Quidditch Pitch had, I don't know, a handy-dandy umbrella, or something. Maybe a roof outside; that's probably more likely to happen than a community umbrella.

Suddenly, far down the path, I could make out a silhouette, and I yelled to it, "PROFESSOR WOOD?"

The wind carried my voice away, but he must've heard me since he looked up, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"WHAT?"

"COME INSIDE," he yelled, pulling a ring of keys out of his pocket as he joined me at the door.

A moment later and we were safely hidden in the twisting hallways underneath the Quidditch stands, both of us shivering as Professor Wood looked at me. I stuck out my hand, "Aletta Darling."

He shook it, "Oliver Wood. And what, may I ask, are you doing here?"  
"Uh," I said, feeling suddenly awkward. Didn't they tell him my name? "You're supposed to be teaching me how to fly."

Professor Wood stared at me for a moment, almost unbelievingly, before he started to do something I feel is both out of character for him and stupid...

He started to _laugh._

I let out a 'calming' breath before asking, "What's so funny?"

He sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself down enough to speak, "I was just expecting... something a little... different."

And suddenly, I felt very mocked and I was angry with him. "What, like, a scared fat little second year who could barely make it down the lawn without a Chocolate Frog for energy?"

"Well, not exactly-"

"Well, I'll tell you something, Mr. Quidditch hot shot." I'm not sure what I'm angrier with him for; getting me that detention in my second year or the fact that he was laughing that I can't use a broomstick. "While you've been flying around on your little piece of stick with COW-FEED on the back, I've been, I don't know, actually DOING something with my life!"

"Now wait a minute-"

"I have more OWLS than you do brain cells and I can fly circles around you withOUT the man-made materials, so I would appreciate it if-"

"Oh, you've been doing something with your life?" His face was turning a little red and I could tell I had offended him, "Tell me, does getting into trouble TWICE on the train ride alone and doing your Potions Essay less than fifteen minutes before your first class count as doing something with your life? And I don't know what your insinuating about my intelligence, you stuck-up, dog-nosed little... wait, I remember you now." My face drained of a little color as he continued, "You're that little priss who got me in trouble in my seventh year! No wonder you despise Quidditch, you can't even ride a broom!"

"I never said I couldn't ride a broom!"

"You never said it, McGonagall did!"

I scowled, "I don't even know why I came down here, I knew you hadn't changed in five years and there is no way I can work with you."

"Why should I change? I enjoy a laugh and you're blowing up about it. You don't even know what I wa-"

But I slammed the door to the Pitch and cut off what he was going to say. I stated to run away, angry, but I didn't waste any time in starting to flap my arms, no doubt looking like an idiot but who was there to see me? I was off the ground in seconds and off to the cover of the trees.

And once I reached the trees, I sat there for a moment, my eyes taking in everything there was around me, including how Professor Wood was now running for what might be his life as the light drizzle became a torrential downpour. I sighed as I tried to think of what to do, wondering if I had any other option than to take these stupid flying lessons.

Making up my mind all too quickly, I'm sure, I started to flap madly, fighting the wind with every muscle in my body. I circled the castle three times before I finally found McGonagall's window. I pecked at it incessantly, not bothering to look to see if she was in a meeting or even there.

When McGonagall finally slipped the window open enough for me to fit inside, I fell onto the ground, changing back and breathing deeply. "Miss Darling?"  
"Professor McGonagall, I can't take the lessons," I panted as the last of my feathers faded into hair on my arms.

"I should say so, it's pouring outside," McGonagall exclaimed, closing the window and flicking her wand expertly. Within moments I was greeted with a warm, fluffy towel.

"No, I mean I can't ever. Professor Wood and I, we don't mix well. It's like a bad potion, we explode or give people warts or something."

Professor McGonagall sighed, "I'm quite aware of your explosion, as you so kindly put it. Professor Wood just left, claiming that you were intolerable."

"I'm intolerable," I thundered, "Why the little-"

"Enough, I don't want to hear it. I've been doing some thinking, and I've come to a decision about your... situation." Professor McGonagall leaned down to help me off the floor, grabbing her towel from around my shoulders and throwing it into her back room. "There is going to be a flying test in one month; it is required to pass for graduation. So if you don't pass it, you can't graduate."

"But the lessons aren't required?" I questioned immediately. Professor McGonagall shook her head. "And I have to use a broom?" I continued, my voice falling at the end. But Professor McGonagall nodded, and I rolled my eyes, standing and making my way to the door, "Goodnight, then, Professor."

"Goodnight, Aletta," she said as she closed the door behind me.

"Okay, first thing's first. Up," Susan shouted the next afternoon.

We were in an empty classroom right now and it was still raining outside, but when I confessed my problem to Susan she insisted that, should she train me, we start immediately. Apparently there is never any time to waste.

I looked at her like she was crazy as the broom flew up into her hand, but she smiled at me, "Okay, now you try."

"Uh, what did you do," I questioned, feeling stupid. I just don't see any point in brooms! They freaking hover and don't know how to go with the wind.

"Just say in a clear, powerful voice 'up.'"

"Up?"  
"Up."

"Okay, here goes nothing," I said, sticking my hand out like Susan had done and playing the role of the idiot. "Up!"

"No, don't shout it. Shouting does nothing," Susan said, "Shouting just messes up how you say it."

"Okay," I said, "Second try. Up." The broom twitched a little, but still did not fly up into my hand.

Susan groaned, "More power! Come on, it's a stupid piece of wood, make it listen to you! "  
"Yeah, it's a stupid piece of wood, and I'm acting like it can hear me," I said, sighing as I sat back on a desk, "I'll never get this right." I don't do well faced with adversity if I don't want to do what is challenging me in the first place.

"Don't say that! Just keep trying," Susan said, smiling at me.

I bit my lip as I stood again, for the final time, "Up!"  
"What did I say about shouting?"

"Sorry," I sighed. "Okay, once more, up." The broom twitched again, but still did not move off of the ground.

"One more time."


	5. A Little Less Sixteen Candles

Alright, so I'm a horrible person. I was just about to update chapter eight, when I realized there was a chapter missing. Which is weird, cause I swear I can remember uploading this, but I went through and it's not there. So pretty much, this is the lost chapter.

* * *

I sighed as I sat on my bed, flipping through a magazine as I tried desperately to get my mind off my recent flying lesson. I had yet to get the broom to listen to my commands, and Susan was obviously at her wit's end by the time we'd been trying for a half an hour. After a total of an hour of lessons, two temper tantrums, and one broken broom as a result of said temper tantrums, Susan suggested I go talk to my lover, Professor Wood.

Needless to say, I ripped what little hay was still on the broom off of it, jumped on the remains, and then kicked them out the door, yelling 'that's what I think of my goddamn lover!' That's how I ended up here, in my room, ripped pieces of hay still stuck under my fingernails, a splinter in my forearm that I'm trying to ignore, and an old magazine my only distraction from my failure with a broom.

I heard a quiet knock on my door, and I smiled when I looked up and saw Siren. She smiled at me, her left dimple hidden by the shadows the sun cast on her. "Hey."

"Hey," I responded, throwing my magazine to the side and picking at the splinter as Siren came to sit on the bed.

"Susan is freaked about your freak out. She thinks she's a horrible teacher."

"She's not a horrible teacher," I said bitterly, "Brooms are a horrible invention. Things without wings were not meant to fly."

Siren smirked at me as I crossed my arms, "Why don't you just go ask Professor Wood for help? He's a pretty cool guy - he watched our class yesterday, when Hagrid was out. He seemed pretty decent."

"He's a jerk-off, idiotic, macho-man wanna-be, Quidditch-crazed freak."

Siren only laughed in response, "No, he's a pretty smart guy."

"Oh, well if you say so, he must be a saint," I spat sardonically.

"Hey," Siren said, obviously offended, "He's no saint or anything, I know that-"

"Well, you'd never guess by the way you're going on about him."

"I don't want to fight," Siren said, standing and heading for the door, "So see ya. Come talk to me when you're sane again."

I ground my teeth together as I glared at the back of Siren's head as she walked out of my room, meeting Tom in the hallway. He smiled at her, which would've surprised me if I wasn't pissed off. I heard Siren giggle before she descended the stairs and left my sight.

Tom leaned into my door, tapping on my doorframe, "Partner?"

"What," I snapped.

"Oh, feisty," Tom said, smirking at me.

"Can it," I nearly growled, "I'm not in the mood. Tell me what you need and get out."

"We need to go over the schedules for the prefects on-duty this week and get the announcements out to be posted."

"Can we do this later?"

"You have ten minutes," Tom said, looking extremely stern.

I thought about arguing that I didn't have time, but thought better of it. If I learned anything about Tom after dating him for two years, it's that if he's being strict, it's because he got a bad grade and is 'buckling down.' And if he got a bad grade... just, don't get in his way.

Absent-mindedly, I started to rub my side. I wondered whether or not I should go now and get the work over with, but decided that letting Tom have some time alone to cool off would be a better choice. _So, ten minutes of freedom. Wonder what I can do..._

Without a second thought, I felt my bones start to mesh and my hair start to fade into feathers. In almost no time, a falcon sat in my place on my bed, and I took off towards my continuously-open window.

The afternoon had brought the sun and the lawn was bright and full, mostly with friends and couples sitting in large groups and laughing so loudly that I could hear them. Uninterested in the common sight, I tilted my wings to follow an air current towards the southern end of the castle.

After a few minutes, I perched on the horn of a gargoyle, looking lazily over the landscape. The south lawn was mostly abandoned, except for one small student close to the edge of the woods. Interested to see what he was doing, I flew closer.

Finding a comfortably shaded spot among the tree branches, I watched the boy with interest. He was only a first year, I realized, but he was already working with a broom. A Hufflepuff, he seemed to be having trouble getting the broom to listen to his 'up' command.

I could hear him screaming the command quite clearly. He repeated it incessantly until I wished he would just give up, until his the hoarseness of his voice was getting hoarse and much longer than the ten minutes I'd been allotted. But what is Tom gonna do? He'll be fine by himself for a while.

I sat on the branch for almost a half hour, watching the boy. I was so concentrated on the dormant wood that I jumped when the boy finally summoned the broom. My eyes shot immediately to his face, which was obviously overjoyed. Even he seemed amazed at his own accomplishment.

The verbal reaction was delayed, but just as obviously jubilant. Screaming in victory, the boy took off running towards the Quidditch Pitch. Following him, I circled above the boy as he banged on the door.

"Professor Wood! Professor Wood!" The boy's screaming was relentless and gritty, and I was relieved when the door opened. "I got it! I got it to come up!"

I heard a deep laugh, "Excellent, Gregory. I'm very proud of you!"

"Let me show you," the boy, Gregory, exclaimed. I watched as Gregory dropped the broom, "Up!"

Both of the boys' faces lit up when the broom lifted gracefully into Gregory's hand, "That was brilliant!"

"Thanks, Professor."

"I'll be expecting you to show the rest of them in class, then," Wood said, obviously smiling down at the boy.

"Yes sir," Gregory responded, "Good day, sir." At that, the boy ran up the hill.

I heard Oliver laughing as I started to fly away. I guess he saw me, because I faintly heard him mutter, "Why does that bird have an anklet on?"

I flew back to my room, through my open door and down into my small, private common room, where Tom was muttering to himself angrily and scribbling furiously on his paper. I landed lightly on the back of the couch next to him, laughing inwardly when he jumped because I crowed.

He glared at me, "Do you know how late you are, you stupid bird-brained-"

I cawed again, taking off towards the door to our common room. _Not gonna stay if you talk that way to me-_

"Hey," Tom called, laughing as he caught my gist. Diving, he grabbed a tail feather and pulled me down.

He found me my laughing, teenage self by the time I hit the floor. Seeing that boy's success put me in a good mood, and I'd always loved messing around with Tom. It's why we lasted so long as a couple.

It seemed that Tom was thinking of the same thing as he crawled over me, laughing with me and smiling down at me. _Oh, don't,_ I thought, dreading the idea of kissing him. Actually, I dread the aftermath of kissing him.

But I knew I couldn't stop him if he wanted, and so I let him kiss me. It was a soft, almost shallow kiss. No different than a million kisses we'd shared before. Taking a long, calming breath through my nose, I pushed Tom up gently.

His eyes locked with mine as he pulled away, obviously feeling that it was his choice to. We were both speechless. Well, I was speechless, Tom just didn't think he had to speak first. He was waiting for my confession of passion, of needing, and a bunch of other shit.

Of course, as tends to happen when things aren't going my way, Professor Wiggins walked into the room, obviously with some announcement he wanted us to make. He seemed startled by what he found, but turned out and walked away in a hurry.

Tom raised his eyes to look at the teacher, who I'd just heard gasp. I know it was Professor Wiggins because he's the only one who wouldn't stop us before he went to get the Headmaster. He felt the need to let students be caught in the act.

"Shit," Tom muttered as I pushed him off of me, his eyes still glued to the door.

Tom and I had gone into this year knowing that if anything happened between us, we'd be removed of our post, forced back into our respective dorms, and probably serve about a year's worth of detention. Really - if it happened at the end of the year McGonagall would make us serve it through the summer, into next year.

Simultaneously, Tom and I pushed ourselves off the ground and started for the door, both pushing and hoping to get to Wiggins before the other. I guess I should've just let Tom go, because Wiggins listens to Tom and it was obviously Tom's doing.

But I ran after Tom, cursing my short legs as I attempted to race him. Our room was only a few corridors away from McGonagall's office, and it didn't take long for us to arrive at the wooden statue, still descending from Professor Wiggins' climb.

"Iguana," Tom called, emulating my usual behavior as he called the password from down the hall.

We got there just in time to run up the stairs, Tom leading the way, and burst through the door.

"Professor, it's not what you think," I cried, stumbling over Tom as he stopped short. I fell on the ground at Professor Wiggins' feet as he looked down at me smugly.

"It isn't," Professor McGonagall questioned, seemingly bewildered at my behavior. "Please, tell me what isn't what I think."

"Uh," I said, unsure of how to respond. Had Professor Wiggins not proclaimed the news with a joyous voice when he walked into the room? Had a cake specially made on his way over by the kitchen?

"She was kissing Mr. Worthington," Wiggins said, resembling a two year old with a mountain for a nose from my angle as he pointed at me.

"He was kissing me," I protested, "And it meant nothing. It was a fluke."

"A fluke," Tom questioned, sounding amazed. Annoyed at his behavior, which suggested that we might get back together, I kicked him in the shin. "Ow," Tom muttered.

"See! And she abuses him," Wiggins proclaimed.

"I do not abuse him!"  
"She does not abuse me!"

"Don't stick up for me," I hissed at Tom, worried about the image we were projecting to McGonagall and the repercussions when he and I were alone again. He might think I owe him something.

"Quiet!" Professor McGonagall proclaimed. I arched my neck to see her upside-down, but obviously annoyed, "I still have not been told in a clear, **calm** voice what is going on."

"We weren't kissing, Ally was showing me-" Tom broke off, looking down at me for help. Of all Tom's subjects, BSing was not one he passed.

"How to wrestle," I blurted out, not knowing what else we could do in that position.

"Lies," Wiggins cried out, pointing at me, "She had him pinned!"  
"I beg your pardon," Tom said, feigning offense, "But I had her pinned."

"Why," Professor McGonagall questioned, ignoring the extraneous information and cutting off any retort from Professor Wiggins, "Were you two wrestling?"

"Well," I started, my mind searching for possibilities that Tom would catch on easily to. If he had to think of something himself, we'd be screwed.

"I saw wrestling on one of those picture-boxes in London over the summer-"

"And," I finished, "He was interested in how you'd do it. My second cousin, who is also my godfather, is a wrestler, so I told him I'd show him some moves. You know, buddy-to-buddy."

McGonagall sat tight-lipped at her desk, mulling over what we said for a moment, "You two know the rules of your sharing of a common room."

"Yes, m'am."

"We met at the beginning of the year, and you both assured me that your relationship was over, and that I would have no trouble from either of you. Now, I want no more of this wrestling business in my school, is that clear?"

"Yes, m'am."

"Good, now be on your way."

Tom leaned down to help me up as Professor Wiggins started on his temper-tantrum, "What? That's all? Why, I mean no-"

"Come on," Tom whispered, "Let's just go." I nodded and followed Tom down the stairs and into our common room.

"That was a rush," Tom cried excitedly as we made it back into our common room, "I've never lied to a teacher before! I feel so... invigorated!"

Tom used his invigoration to grab me around the waist and plant a sloppy kiss on my lips. Trying not to be disgusted, both with his lack of lying and his wet kiss, I pushed Tom off.

"Tom, no, that kiss was a one-time thing," I said, sitting on the couch and grabbing a hold of Tom's previous scribblings, "We need to do our work, now." I didn't need to look up at Tom to know that he was angry. Without another word, he jumped up, grabbing the floor of the area in front of his room and pulling himself up. "Where are you going?"

"I worked for almost an hour by myself, you can do the same!"

I sighed, muttering incoherently to myself as Tom slammed the door. Today may have been an official disaster with only one small glint of a good thing - that boy, Gregory. Because of him, I think I've found inspiration to actually work at the broom until I get it. The joy on his face was so contagious, but I felt left out that I couldn't share it with him, relate to him.

Resolved in my determination both to translate Tom's scribbles into a coherent schedule and to learn to ride a broom and join the exclusive club, I leaned over the table, smiling to myself.


	6. Watch Me Shine

I stretched as my alarm went off, curling and uncurling my toes in my strange morning ritual as I arched my back. _Twenty-seven days to learn how to ride a broom. Day one._ I gulped, wishing desperately that I could sleep until noon and ignore every obligation I can think of.

I groped desperately for my music player, smiling as the sound of what everyone else calls 'muggle filth' started to pound through my room. What can I say? I have a weak spot for Joanna Pacitti, and other girl-power singers. I go to America every summer - they're about as magical as the doorknob on the Queen of England's bedroom door, what am I supposed to listen to?

_Oh I'm not your average type of girl - I'm gonna show the world the strength in me, that sometimes they can't see. I'm about to switch my- _

I jumped midway through changing when something quite loud banged on the wall next to my bathroom. _WTF? Did the boggart for Defense Against the Dark Arts get out? _I grabbed my wand defensively, though I was still in only in a bra and pj pants. I eyed my window, which I had shut last night because it had been raining.

"Turn it down," I heard an accent call out, and I rolled my eyes, muttering to myself as moved to turn down my music.

"Oh, right, I've got a bloody neighbor." My tone because quite obviously mocking, "Look at me, I live next to the head girl! YIPEE!"

!!

"Oh for Merlin's miracles," Penny sputtered her... unique turn of phrase when she saw me sit down next to Siren, "Who stabbed you in the foot to get you out of bed?"

"No one," I defended, "I just... well, I've got some work to do today." By now, all of my friends knew of my 'situation' with a broom, and how I needed to spend my weekends working on it, but that didn't mean that I wanted to rave about it in the middle of the Great Hall.

"Work? What work, it's the-" I kicked Penny under the table, and her jaw dropped, "Oh, you mean that work."

"Hello, captain obvious," Siren giggled into her toast.

"I didn't think you were serious. I fig-"

"Of course I was serious. Susan is supposed to be meeting me down here in ten minutes and I was up until one in the morning last night reading about broom theory and what not."

Siren whistled, "I haven't heard you this serious about a subject since you got two D's and a T on your papers in History of Magic last year and had to get an O with no possible deductions to manage a passing grade in the class."

"Well, graduating is on the line, here, and I am not failing my seventh year and staying to repeat **another** just to take flying lessons with that Scottish male-scrubber."

The girls laughed, and it was only when I realized that they were laughing **much** too hard for it to have been my calling our newest teacher a 'male-scrubber' that I felt the terribly large presence behind me, actually standing much too close. He wonders why I call him a male-scrubber, he invades my personal space!

But I didn't trust myself enough to turn around and talk my way out of the situation - what's the worst he can do to me, anyway? I'll just sit here and look as cute as possible.

"That's a rather unpleasant thing to call your lover so early on a Saturday morning - rough night? Or not rough enough?" I turned, my eyes wide at the sound of a female voice, sans Scottish accent.

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, "Susan, I hate you!" Despite my proclamation of repulsion for my _second_ flying teacher in a row, Susan and I fell into each other, laughing.

Susan smiled at me, "Ready for another flying lesson?"

"Yes sir," I replied smartly, standing to follow her out of the Great Hall.

!!

"So, today was better, huh," Susan looked at me hopefully, but I couldn't bring myself to return her nervous smile. My hair was frizzy beyond belief from stress and my pawing at it, and if graduation wasn't on the line I would've put every broom I could find through a wood chipper by now.

"I'm gonna shower," I said, pleading the fifth to Susan's question, "But tomorrow, same time, alright?"

Scared that she would break the date, I cut behind a picture and into a secret passageway up to the sixth floor without her reply. Well, okay, it isn't a usecret/u passageway, most of the students know about it, but no one ever uses it because all it leads to are a few offices and a back stairway that comes up right in front of my room. Really, it's very useful for me, just not for anyone else.

"Ow!" I swear, the only problem with this stairwell is that because it isn't used at all, when it iis/i used it's almost always by someone breaking the rules, and apparently rule-breakers are very messy. I never bother to light up the passageway and see what it is, because there is the very real possibility of me throwing up.

Sticking my arms out straight in front of me, I leaned forward to try and find the wall to get out, stumbling out of it clumsily. _I wonder when I'll get used to the-_

"Ahem."

I froze at the sound of the voice of someone who was either Tom or a teacher, and quite honestly I'm not sure which is worse. I mean, being stuck living with Tom was awkward enough, but for him to see me tripping? Then again, I'm pretty sure my teacher's think I'm crazy enough, so much for stumbling out of walls that hide passageways with illegal substances.

Slowly, I turned, and appreciated the irony I had been presented with for only a few seconds, "Why, Professor Wood, fancy meeting you here."

"And who were you just with?" His Scottish accent was deep, and maybe even slightly sexy... That's Siren talking, of course.

"No one," I replied, unsure whether to run for fear of detention or be offended that he thought I had been with anyone.

Wood glanced between the wall and me suspiciously before giving up, "So, how are the flying lessons going?"

He walked passed me and towards what I guess is his office, pointing his wand at the lock and muttering something as I replied, "Uh, they're going just fine."

"You're being tutored by Susan Phillips, right," Wood questioned as he pushed his door opened. I bit my lip, nodding. "Great flyer, beautiful turns. Well, if you need anymore help, you know where my office is."

Wood closed the door to his office, giving me one last civil smile, and I stood in awe for a few seconds. _That was... polite. That can't be Wood. Wood is... obsessive, to a cruel point. He-_

My thoughts were interrupted by a clapping, chuckling Tom, "So, that is who you plan to get over me with."

My brow furrowed, and I groaned as he stepped out of the shadows, where he had been lurking. _Why the frick does everyone think I like Professor Wood? AND WHO FREAKING LURKS ANYMORE?_ "I am not getting over you with anyone. I don't need anyone to get over you, you were a sucky boyfriend."

"Such language for an up and coming teacher's pet," Tom tsked as he walked passed me, "You'll simply have to work on your mouth."

"Yeah, well, your mouth isn't getting worked on."

Ironically, in my head that didn't make sense, it was just a vain attempt at having a comeback. But now that it's out in the open it is pretty hilarious and comically genius. Well, if you're me, anyway.

Not risking a defeat in a battle I am pretty sure I've won, I retreated back towards the wall. "Where are you going?"

"Common room," I said, not specifying which common room I was going to. I actually didn't know. What common rooms are around here? I'm welcome in all of them except Slytherin. I used to be accepted everywhere, but then I broke up with Tom.

_I haven't been to see my house all year,_ I thought, and made up my mind. Really, my common room was a very pleasant place, except for the fact that our password changes every freaking day. It's really ridiculous.

The walk to the common room was long, or it would've been if, as Head Girl, I hadn't been informed of so many passageways to patrol that I cut my walking distance in almost half.

The eagle-head knocker questioned me carefully, "When facing an Inferi, what is the most effective defense?"

I rolled my eyes - in light of the war, all the questions _this_ year were about dark magic and how to defend yourself against it. It's a DADA class to get into it. "A heat or light spell," I recited - Willow is fascinated with Inferi, of all things. I retain some information.

I smiled as I found my place on the couch, nodding at my house members. I used to love being in this common room - I still do, I just don't get the chance anymore. There was always a bratty little first year who needed help on a potions report, or someone to discuss something or other with. It's just such a different atmosphere than with the girls, it's refreshing.

"Aly," I heard a girl's Irish accent call, and was immediately jumped on by a very recognizable fourth year.

Bryony Richards was a small girl by nature, very slight and airy, making her look a perfect fit for the common room, if it wasn't for her bright purple hair. She wasn't even a Metamorphmagus, she just enjoys rebelling against her parents and dyes her hair purple.

"Bry," I giggled at the fourth year, hugging her tightly, "Where have you been hiding?"

"I haven't got any projects that I need help with desperately," Bry smiled cheekily up at me.

Bry, despite being rebellious, was so ambitious I'm surprised she wasn't a Slytherin. She wanted to be an auror, the youngest ever. While that wasn't a very likely possibility, what with Harry Potter living in our time period and all, she refuses to give up the dream, and therefore sought to get an O on everything.

She managed, too, with a lot of help from older Ravenclaws, namely me. I used to tutor for money before this year, and Bry was my star student by far. It was kind of depressing to give it up this year, but being Head Girl is more time consuming.

Bry, in addition to being amazing at school, is also on the Quidditch team, now that I think about it.

"Hey, Bry," I said, smiling at her, "What would you think about giving your old tutor a lesson?"

Bry eyed me carefully as she took a seat on the edge of the couch, "In what?"

"Flying."

!!

"Alright, you feeling okay back there?"

I gripped my protégée's waist tightly, "Why are we up here?!"

"Dude, Aly," Bry scorned in front of me, "We're not even ten feet off the ground."

"And we're being held up by a piece of wood that isn't the thickness of my wrist!"

None of you can say that I have a problem with heights. I have soared to over three hundred feet in the air, but that was when I as a freaking bird. Right now, I'm on a broom! This is unnatural! The laws of nature are working _against_ this.

"Oy, you two," I heard Wood call from the edge of the pitch, "One to a broom. And who is supervising you?"

"I happen to be supervising us," I said as Bry started to drop down, causing me to scream, "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Letting you down. Haven't you ever flown before, Aly?"

"You can't supervise yourself while flying, Darling! Who's given you permission?" Wood was starting to make his way closer.

"Alright, just take this really slow," I said, ignoring his question.

I could tell Bry was confused and annoyed, but she obliged me. The thing is, I didn't expect Wood to walk so fast, so when he yelled at me to answer his question, and was only a few feet away, I was startled... and I fell.

Granted, I only fell three feet, but I fell three feet straight to Wood's feet, and he is so not the person I want to embarrass myself in front of... again.

I rolled over to see Bry rolling her eyes while Wood smirked down at me, "Are you alright, Darling? Or do I just sweep you off your feet?"

"If you swept me off my feet, then you should catch me too, so if we go with that then it's all your fault that I'm falling everywhere."

"Yeah, you're fine," Wood decided as he leaned down, digging his hands under my armpits to pick me up.

"Aly, haven't you ever ridden a broom before," Bry questioned, dismounting from her broom and furrowing her brow at me.

"M-"

"I think you've had enough flying for the day. Time to get your land-legs back," Wood commented, turning to make his way back to his office.

"That was the first time I've been off the ground all day!"

"Really," Wood questioned, "Weren't you supposed to be practicing this morning with Susan? Right after you called me a male-scrubber?"

My face fell as I looked between Bry and Wood, _He really heard that?!_


	7. Big Girls Don't Cry

My alarm clock rang on this, my final Saturday. I was determined, dedicated, and not in the least bit deterred from my original goal... and I still can't get the damn broom to come up. Yeah, it takes First Years a max of ten minutes and it's taken me twenty seven days... and counting.

It's not for a lack of trying - I've spent every Saturday and Sunday on flying, I've read thirteen books on flying theory - hell, I've done everything short of getting private lessons from Professor Wood which, by the way, is totally out of the question.

I mean, how do you tell the boy-broom wonder that you've spent an entire month trying to get your broom to listen to your first, basic command? You can't, not when your name is Aletta Ashling Darling and you have fist-fought with said wonder about the point of brooms.

I really have no idea what I'm going to do tomorrow. I couldn't live with myself if I bewitched the broom, not after all the work I put into doing this right. Not to mention I can't imagine getting away with it. _Maybe I won't be the only one to fail,_ I hoped, Maybe_ everyone else forgot how to ride... and I'll magically learn the secrets to riding a broom today and sweep everyone off their feet. Yeah, right._

!!

"What am I going to do, Siren," I moaned at dinner. _Seventeen hours until hell and counting._

"I can't believe you still haven't gotten your broom off the ground," Siren confessed, "You've spent every waking moment on this."

"I know," I groaned, all but shoving my face into my soup.

"Ah, Miss Darling, sitting at the wrong table, I observe."

"Using the word 'observe' doesn't make you sound any smarter," I shot back at the Potions Master before I realized that the Potions Master is, well... Professor Wiggins.

My eyes grew wide before, "Detention, Miss Darling, and fifteen points from Ravenclaw."

Siren and Penny laughed at me, but I just shoved my soup aside so I could lay my head on the table, "Why am I so dead? How does anyone manage to be so dead?"

"You're not dead, just screwed," Penny pointed out nonchalantly.

"I'd rather be dead."

!!

"This is gonna be it - you're so close," Susan urged, unmistakably optimistic.

But I couldn't bring myself to share her enthusiasm - I've got fifteen minutes to be able to do loop-de-loops, "I'm no closer than yesterday!" I wanted to cry. Dramatic, but I've just never failed this horribly at something I tried so hard for. It's a real spirit crusher.

I wiped at my eyes as Susan responded desperately, "Of course you are! The broom is twitching in a much more vertical way, now."

At the word 'twitching,' which sounded so pitifully when Susan could get her broom to float so gracefully in comparison, tears actually started to fall,_ I'm not going to graduate because of this freaking stick._ I started to pull at my hair in distress.

"Oy, you two," I heard a distinctive Scottish accent call, "Who is that? Phillips and Darling? What, last minute lessons? That's good, preparation, I'll keep it in mind. Want to help me set up?" I glanced over my shoulder to see Wood, clipboard and wand in hand, "It's a fun set-up, I swear."

He started to move closer towards us, in the center of the Quidditch Pitch, and I moved closer to Susan, "I can't do this, Susan. I just can't. I'm Head Girl, and I can't even ride a broom? No, it's too ridiculous."

"Aly," Susan cried as I turned my back on her, rushing towards the entrance Wood had just come in through.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, and I felt him grab my arm, but I just shook him off and kept running. No, I'm freaking crying, this is the last way I want anyone to see me.

Certain that if I ran into any of my friends, they would make me come back and face the jeering crowd that I've already created in my mind, - and no that is not happening - I decided to go to a place where they can't catch me. Reminiscent of my first flying 'lesson' with Wood so long ago, I started to wave my arms and was quickly lifted into the air by my wings.

Turning away from the woods, I instead made my way for the most peaceful place ever to fly - over the lake.

I know what Susan thinks - she thinks I can't stand to fail publically, that I'm scared to be humiliated. But that is not how this is. I've failed publically before - Snape used to love to make me the butt of many a failed-potion jokes. He'd compare me to Neville Longbottom and occasionally would keep my potion to show to the other kids in my year. Oh yes, if anyone conditioned me for failing publically, or conditioned **anyone** for failing publically, it was Snape.

And humiliation? I mean - I trip every which way, my friends and I are the loudest girls to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts, and, well, if having your potion actually saved for the other class to laugh at isn't humiliating, I don't know what is.

I, just, I can't face it. I don't know what it is I can't face about failing this test, but I can't. It's like - well, it isn't the humiliation in front of my peers, and it isn't the failure, I guess...

Oh God.

Someone is going to think its Professor Wood.

I could already hear the conversation in my head. "Where's Aly?" "She took off - she really didn't want to take this test." "I don't see why not, what's so bad?" "You know she can't stand to fail. She's a Ravenclaw." "You saw that Befuddlement Draught she made, _everyone_ saw that." "Wonder what's so bad." "WOOD!"

Oh lord, I'm never going to hear the end of it...

!!

"Hey, Aly," Willow said, sitting next to me on the lawn, where I sought refuge after my flight around the lake.

"I did not run away because of Professor Wood," I cut in, figuring it was best to suck the poison out before they could try and bite me.

Penny glanced at Siren before sitting down on the other side of Willow, "I don't remember mentioning that it was."

"We didn't even think of it," Siren agreed, and with a horrible squelch in my stomach I realized they were completely serious. I just totally took the poisonous snake and shoved its fangs into me.

"What are you guys talking about," I covered lamely, with full knowledge that now I was about to be teased, and I couldn't even say the possibility didn't cross my mind, "How did you all do?"

"Pass."

"Pass."

"Pass."

"Everyone passed," Siren finished up.

"Everyone?"

**"Everyone."**

I scrunched my face, "I'm in a grade with a bunch of freaks."

"What's gonna happen to you," Willow questioned, picking at the grass between her and Siren.

I sighed, falling back into the grass, "I have no idea. Probably fail this year and have to come back to take the lessons with the first years next year."

"I saw the cutest first year today. He-" I glared at Penny, "Oh, never mind."

For a few minutes, we all laid on the lawn in relative silence, not counting Siren and Willow talking about their assignment in Muggle Studies and giggling about the teacher, who I've heard is a hack. And for a 

few seconds here and there I forgot that I had just thrown graduating down the tube, along with my honor and the ability to show myself in public.

"Ow," I cried as I felt a sharp pain in my shin.

Siren laughed, "Well, maybe if you'd have gotten the letter before, the owl wouldn't be so angry."

"This is why I have a cat - they're silent too, but they don't go around pecking people in the shins," I muttered to myself as I took the letter from the pecky little owl. I glanced at the signature before reading the letter, "Figures. Wood's owl."

"LOVER," Willow shouted, and the group dissolved into giggles as I read the letter.

_Dear Miss Darling,_

_You have failed the flying test. Please report to my office in the castle as soon as possible to arrange a solution. The test is mandatory for graduation._

_Professor Wood_

Well, that was to the point. Wood doesn't seem to feel I need any condolence. Is it weird if I think his handwriting looks pompous? It's definitely pompous - freaking straight lines and boxy letters. Except for the signature - that was a stereotypical cursive, almost indistinguishable scribble. Still, unnaturally straight. He must use a ruler.

I sum this all up to pompous handwriting, though.

"Gotta go," I stood, brushing the grass off my bum, "Wood calls."

"Oh, rephrase that right now."

"The most obnoxious man I've ever met beckons."

"How do you know he's so obnoxious?" Willow looked confused.

"He beckons cause he's got morning wood," Penny ignored Willow's question.

I rolled my eyes, "You guys are sick. It's half past noon - he does not have morning wood."

"Fine, he's got afternoon wood," Penny giggled as I turned towards the castle.

"I can't hear you! Bye! Going to talk to the PROFESSOR!"

"PROFESSOR OF LOVE!" _With freaking obnoxious handwriting._

!!

I ran a hand through my hair, knocking on Professor Wood's door, "Come in." I obliged, glancing nervously around the office before heading to the couch behind Wood's desk, "Ah, Miss Darling."

"Professor Wood." I sounded stiff, but I just wanted to get this all over with ASAP.

"So," he put down his quill and turned his chair, planting his elbow on his armrest and resting his chin on his hand, "What do you want to do about this?"

_God, that accent is __sexy__ an accent._ I shrugged, "I don't know. Lie to McGonagall?"

His lips pursed and he turned to grab what I assumed was my file, "You know I can't do that." He smiled, though, when he opened my file, "Your picture is always so obscene to me."

"What?"

"Anyway, we need to figure out something. First off, why did you run off today?" I looked pointedly to the ceiling, almost refusing to even think about it. "I mean - a month of private lessons with Susan Phillips. You should be an avid flyer." Silence is oh so golden. "Right?" Shut up, Wood. "You can fly, right Darling?" Shut **up,** Wood. "Oh Merlin, have you ever even been off the ground?"

"On a broom?"

"Of course on a broom - what other way is there?"

_The natural way._ "Once."

"The time with the Ravenclaw girl? And you fell off?"

"Yes." Way to have tact Wood. Oh, what I wish I could do to your face right now. Like that isn't a slightly painful memory - falling to your feet like a pitiful, pleading fan girl.

"Oh. Wow. But you had lessons-"

"I know."

"A-"

"What are we going to do?" _Just shut up, give me an order, and let me leave._

"I guess I'll just have to give you the lessons and you'll take the test... in a few months, or whenever you're ready."

I should have seen this coming - I mean, what? I keep getting lessons that are getting me flying at the speed of a very lazy sloth? Not likely - not on the broom boy wonder's watch.

But still, I'm kind of annoyed right now. I really want to fight him on this, because he definitely cannot do this legally. Forcing someone into private lessons has got to be somewhere in the student handbook as not right.

Then again, I'm not sure if I have a choice. What else can I do? The lessons with Susan are getting me nowhere but upset, and I can't keep skipping the test forever. At least this way I can graduate with the rest of my class.

"I severely dislike this idea." _Just because I accept it doesn't mean I'm not going to fight about it._

"I'd assume so. I'm not quite sure why you hate me so much."

"Well, why do you hate me so much," I retorted, "It's a mystery." I stood, taking Wood's cue that the meeting was over.

"I don't _hate_ you." I ignored his comment as I made my way out of his room, allowing him to snicker, "You've got grass on your bum."

My brow furrowed, and as I wiped at the rear end I SWEAR I cleaned off, I was dismayed to find he was right. The grass on the stone floor confirmed it. _Hey... why was he looking?_


	8. My Big Mouth

I bit my lip, feeling completely awkward as I kneeled in the hallway, glancing around to see if anyone would notice me. I was in the dungeons, so the only people coming down here would be Slytherins. But that would be the worst - it's not just a stereotype, Slytherins have earned their reputation as the nastiest people in the school, though I'll admit Hufflepuff is more gossipy.

For my detention, Professor Wiggins ordered me to clean the entire passageway leading to the potions room. It is dark, dank, I don't feel very comfortable, and I'm not allowed to use magic, making this all a rather evil detention. If Professor Wiggins is smart about one thing, it's just how to use a detention to his advantage. Last year he made me catch all of Hagrid's slugs. I absolutely _despise_ slime, and those slugs were stickier than rubber cement.

And now he's got me trapped in the one part of the school where I am least welcome, and he has me cleaning without magic in between all the little cracks in the bloody stone. It's driving me crazy, and every now and then he comes out and tsks.

I swear, he knows how weird I am about clean floors, just like he knew I get freaked out by slime. Professor Wiggins freaking stalks me so that he can better punish me whenever I do something wrong.

"Well, this was never a sight I expected to see," I heard someone mutter from the end of the hallway. I'd just fallen down onto my hands, and was quite aware that my grass-free butt was quite exposed, despite the fact that I'd covered up with my long black robe. "Darling, quite a compromising position, aye."

I recognized the voice now as it made its way down the hall, attached to a very gorgeous yet completely evil incarnate body. If there is anyone I hated more than Tom or Wood or Wiggins, it was Brendon Phillips, Susan's twin brother and Tom's bestest buddy since who knows when.

I owe my entire relationship with Tom to Brendon - he's always been such a jerk to me that Tom was extremely kind to me in comparison, and whenever I took a break from the States went over to visit Susan during the summer, I would rely on Tom to keep Brendon in line, and also to hang out with me when Susan was busy with whatever. Eventually, we started dating, and viola - one very evil Brendon equals one two year relationship.

I don't know how he's related to one of my best friends.

I grit my teeth as I heard him say my name - I like my name. It's actually done a lot to raise my self-esteem and such, because everyone calls me darling. But the way Brendon says it - it's always sounded so condescending, so old-school, like I'm a house wife. It doesn't help at all that I'm scrubbing a floor.

"Well, Brady-bear," I said, using his mother's rather picturesque nickname for him, "I understand you've never seen a girl on her knees before, but I thought we've talked about this - plenty of girls will think you're handsome after the surgery."

"Really?" Brendon leaned down next to me, his breath slightly sour and haughty next to my ear, "Because rumor has it that you think I'm pretty handsome right now."

"Damn, you're a Slytherin," I rolled my eyes. He was actually a lot like Draco Malfoy - only less pointy looking and more buff. He's a beater on the Quidditch team, so aerodynamics, or whatever it was that kept Draco so skinny, wasn't a concern for him.

"What do you mean?"

"You're so ambitious you're hearing things," I exclaimed, sounding a fake-jubilant. I will give one thing to Brendon - he always makes for a great joke. He just walks straight into them - he isn't even stupid, he just doesn't think anyone would dare make fun of him. It's not a good quality, I realize, but that's why I give it to him so easily.

He shook his head, "I don't see why you're fighting it - everyone knows why you broke up with Tom."

"Yeah, you most of all, you're his best friend. I cheated on him, we broke up."

I was starting to get weirded out now, he's got this really freaky look in his eye, and Professor Wiggins won't be out for another fifteen minutes to disapprove of my work. That and, you know, Quidditch beaters aren't exactly known for their peaceful and Quakerly ways.

"Yes, and that boy's name was Brendon."

"I thought his name was Rick," I said, holding my scrub brush close to my lips as I poised in a thinking position, "It definitely began with an R. Or maybe a W."

"Brendon has an R."

"It's a stretch."

"I'm willing to stretch for you," Brendon whispered sexily, and I turned my eyes fearfully towards him, dodging his hand when he reached up to pet me.

"Brendon, I think it was time for you to leave."

"Well, I don't know if-"

"You heard the lady." Brendon and I both turned simultaneously to see Wood standing at the end of the hallway, where Brendon had spotted me only moments before.

"Excuse me?" Brendon was used to my jokes, and had learned to ignore them, but he also had issues dealing with direct orders. That's why he's team captain - if anyone else dare to tell him what to do, he might die.

"Scoot, or you'll get a detention of your own, for harassing a student."

Brendon eyed Wood carefully before turning to hiss at me, "I never believed Tom when he said there was something fishy going on between you two. Expect this to get out."

...

Why does everyone think I'm in love with Oliver freaking Wood?! Oh god, I'm gonna pull my hair out.

I glared at Wood as Brendon walked away, waiting for him to turn the corner, "Why did you do that?"

Wood looked at me strangely, "Sorry, I didn't know that no suddenly meant yes."

"I can take care of myself," I assured my professor as I stood to walk and tell Professor Wiggins that my detention was over and that I was going.

"Ah, Miss Darling," Professor Wiggins said as he opened the door, "And Wood, how unexpected to see you two together."

The potions master smiled wryly at me. _JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH! COME ON, WIGGINS!_ "Professor, my time is up, I was coming to tell you that I have to leave."

Professor Wiggins took a step out to observe the floors, "With this performance, Darling, you'll deserve another detention."

"Yeah, fine, whatever," I said, crossing my arms and looking around, trying to fight my very picky OCD tendency to scrub a floor until it not only shined, but glared painfully with it's shine, effectively blinding my enemies.

I ran a hand through my hair as Wiggins looked me up and down, "Alright, tomorrow then. Five o'clock, don't be late."

"But Professor Wiggins," I protested, "I won't even get dinner!"

"Well, then you should have worked harder tonight."

"Wiggins, with all due respect, what was Miss Darling's detention?"

_Shut up, Wood._ "To scrub the floor leading to my classroom and office."

"Well," Wood motioned towards the edges of the hallway, "It looks fairly spotless to me."

**"Fairly** spotless it is, but it is not completely spotless."

"Well Wiggins-" _Shut __**UP**__ Wood!_ Knowing where this was going, I stepped on Wood's foot before he could get me into anymore trouble, or somehow managed to point out more imperfections in my cleaning job. "Ow!"

"Miss Darling, I believe that just earned yourself yet _another_ detention."

"You can't give her a detention for stepping on MY foo-"

"Oh my Merlin, just shut UP Wood!" I turned to scream it at him before I realized that I'd... well, you know, screamed at him. It was reminiscent of what got me this detention in the first place. I cleared my throat, looking awkwardly between my two stunned professors, "Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."

"Five tomorrow, Darling!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, sweetie," I called back sarcastically as I walked away. That's the other reason I love my name - I can respond with a pet name and make everyone else sound like an idiot... sorta.

!!

For the second night in a row, I found myself kneeling in the passageway in front of Professor Wiggins' office, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain. Of course it was tonight that I'd been informed by Professor Wiggins that I would not be serving an additional detention for my 'abuse' of Professor Wood, though he would expect to have me write a full apology and have it delivered within the week.

Yeah right. Wood is an idiot with a babbling mouth, and needs to be told when to shut his trap. I'm not at all sorry that I had to tell him.

Slightly reminiscent of last night, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned to see Wood smiling awkwardly at me, "Hey, Darling."

"What do you want, Wood," I questioned, returning to my scrubbing as soon as I caught sight of his face.

"Dinner."

"The Great Hall is open," I responded. _Way to rub it in my face asswipe._

"No, no, I mean I brought you dinner." I glanced up at Wood, looking down his muscular arms to see that he was holding two plates of food. "I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I just grabbed a bit of everything."

"Oh," I said, honestly shocked, "Thanks."

Wood passed me a plate, and I scooted against a wall and started to awkwardly pick at the food with my fingers until boy-broom-wonder pulled a fork out of his robe pocket. I nodded my thanks, and he and I continued to eat in silence.

I glanced up at him every now and then, only to see him staring at his plate and only picking at the food.

"Not hungry," I finally questioned, just to break the silence.

"Oh, no, I am, I just am not a big fan of the Hogwarts food."

"Sucks," I said, shoving another bite of food into my mouth. I was impartial to the Great Hall food. A few more minutes passed by before I spoke again. "So, Professor Wiggins told me that he isn't giving me a detention for stepping on your foot. Thanks." Yes, I'm showing gratitude - I figure Wiggins hates me enough that Wood must have had something to do with it. Wood's trying to be nice right now, and I suppose it wouldn't kill me as much as it normally would to admit that he's helped.

Wood looked up from his plate finally, then, and smiled slightly. It made my heart almost flutter, and I noticed that his eyes were brown. "Not a problem." He nodded towards my almost empty plate, "Done?"

"Oh, yeah, thanks," I said as Wood took the plates in his hand, snapping them to the kitchen.

"Well, then, as long as Wiggins isn't giving you a detention, you have one Saturday evening from me."

My brow furrowed, _THE JERK!_ "What?"

"I expect you at six o'clock sharp at the Quidditch Pitch."

_The Quidditch Pitch? What kind of place is that to have a detention?_ "Wait, is this a ploy to make sure that I'm forced to have a lesson?"

"Would you rather be scrubbing floors," Wood questioned from down the hall, almost turning the corner.

"Yes," I pouted, and I heard Wood's laugh echo off the walls, "Six o'clock sharp, at the Quidditch Pitch. I swear, it won't be painful."

"He says as he makes it a detention," I muttered, falling to my knees again and continuing on the spot, "Like detention isn't a bad thing."


	9. High

Alright, I love this chapter. And, for your information, the song 'High' by James Blunt, is the song I've always thought was the love song for Oliver/Aly. Easily.

Want to hear more love songs, or songs I think go well with them? Guess what, I made a playlist on finetune.

/playlist/2190243

Just go to finetune's homepage and add that. Don't ask me why the editor is freaking out about adding the link, but it is. I'm not allowed to type in a web address or anything.

:)

* * *

I sighed as I made my way down to the pitch, disgusted by the nearly perfect weather conditions. My stomach rumbled – I felt much too nervous to eat a lot at dinner, and was relying on the house elf who cleaned my room to take care of me later.

But as the wind blew gently, I remembered that no matter how comforted I could be by the kind old lady house elf who listened to the problems that I have with my teachers during my late-night cram sessions, it wouldn't help my imminent detention.

I'd never ridden a broom before this year, but my reaction with Bry assured me that I would be terrified. It also had convinced me that brooms were uncomfortable and completely unnecessary. They're so easy to fall off of, who would even want to risk it?

I bit my lip as I stood in front of the unlocked entrance to the Quidditch Pitch, quite aware of the fact that I'd only been able to stall long enough that I was seven minutes late exactly and that Wood probably hadn't even noticed my absence. Hell, I don't even know if he has a clock anywhere around here. I could be going completely on the honor system.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and stepped through the entrance and into the cool, shady hallway leading towards the field. I'd gone to enough Quidditch games that I knew how to get around in the hallways down here, but not enough that I thought I could walk them with my eyes closed.

So I opened them to the dim torch-light, following the signs that were nailed to the wall to make it to the large Quidditch field, where Wood stood, leaning on a single broom.

"Darling," he called, Scottish accent painfully evident, "You're late!"

_Guess he does have a clock._ "Sorry, professor, I got lost," I called lamely, hoping he wouldn't return to his big-mouth tendencies. I let my barely-averaged length legs take longer strides to reach Wood, who was standing in the middle of the field, "So, sir, what are we going to do today?"

Wood wrinkled his nose as he shifted his weight off his broom and quickly mounted it. I stared in amazement as he made some comment about not calling him sir. _Holy crap! His legs are like freaking water! They just swing every which way!_

The broom started to hover, lifting Wood a few inches into the air, and he comfortably took his hand closest to me off the handle in a welcoming position, "Well, come on then."

"What," I said, finally tearing my eyes away from the hovering broom and his slightly-bulging leg muscles and realizing just what I had been doing.

"Are you deaf, or just a scardy-cat," Wood smirked at me, "I said that we'd be going flying."

My brow furrowed, and I tried to think of a polite way to say HELL NO! "With all due respect, sir,-" that's always the way to start off something that you want to be polite but is really very rude, like correcting your teacher's teaching. "I don't think, given my experience, that it would be the best idea for me to fly."

"With all due respect, m'am," Wood mocked me, letting his hand not gripping the broom to rest on his thigh, "I think it's the only way to get you to start flying. You're terrified to be up in the air."

"Am not," I replied lamely. It's not the air that bothers me, it's the broom part. The part where only man-made objects are supporting me.

This was, quite honestly, the first time I'd ever wished that I could tell someone about my animagus form other than the few select teachers that need to know about it. Before third year it hadn't ever come up, and after that Dumbledore had approached me and advised that I kept it a secret from everyone other than my most personal friends, for my own safety.

I realize now he meant because of the war – nothing's more valuable than a spy who can fly at forty miles per hour undetected by magic as anything more than a mere bird, and we all know the Dark Lord doesn't care about what he has to do to attain a valuable ally.

"Are too, you were clutching to a girl while hovering no more than a few feet in the air."

"Then Professor," I interjected, dropping the point. If we keep arguing about that, I might just get myself into more trouble, "I feel the urge to point out that I'm not sure that you and I sharing a broom would make the best of impressions."

"And who is going to tell them, me," Wood questioned, smiling, "I won't tell if you won't."

"You have a rule about flying two to a broom."

"I can make exceptions to my own rules."

I bit my lip – I wasn't quite sure I had a choice in this. Something told me that Wood was certain he was right, and was stubborn enough to deny me the lessons until I agreed to it. I only wished that I could misconstrue the flight into something that could get him fired. Let him go back to playing professionally; I don't know why he ever left.

I finally simply sighed, pushing the broom down a few feet so that I could lift my leg over it easier. My nose wrinkled when I saw that I had to push it so low that Wood was actually standing on the ground, but ignored it as I started to, er, mount behind Wood.

"What do you think you are doing," Wood questioned, and I paused as he looked over his shoulder at me.

I pouted, wondering what I could've done wrong. Did I forget my seat belt? "What?"

Wood rolled his eyes, patting the broom in front of him, "I don't want you sliding off the back, or missing the view."

_The view?_ "I don't think that's the most appropriate position, professor."

"I won't tell if you won't," Wood repeated, smirking mischievously in a way that made my heart flutter a little, just like his smile had in the dungeons.

I gulped, more worried that Wood had magical vision and could see the sudden tension in my chest than of the rumors if anyone happened to walk in right about now. Quickly, I made my way towards the front of the broom, Wood holding it down **ever** so graciously as I kept my eyes lowered.

I swung my leg over, not aiming for Wood's face but secretly hoping to hit it accidentally anyway. Could he fly with a swollen eye? I think not, at least not when I'm a passenger.

But I found no such luck, and instead found myself lifted a few inches into the air before Wood was even hovering a little. "Are you alright," he questioned, wrapping his two strong arms around me and letting his head come to rest over my shoulder.

"Huh?" I questioned, my chest letting up only a little. _I knew it! He's got one of Professor Moody's freaking eyes! He sees it!_

"With this height – you should probably be comfortable with this height before I take you any higher."

_Oh._ "Y-yeah, I'm fine," I said, finding it hard to speak past my recent mild heart attack. _Oh, come _**on!** "Really, Wood, I'm not scared of heights. You're being ridiculous." _That's better._

"Alright, then, if you say so," Wood said, "But you might want to hang on."

"How can I hang on? You're massive hands ar-WHOA!" Wood lowered a few inches to the ground before springing us up a hundred feet into the air and, mindless of where his hands were, forcing me to grasp the broom's handle.

The broom slowed to a floating stop above the Pitch, leaving me tense and hunched over the broom, clutching my thighs and digging my nails into Wood's hands. He tensed momentarily, too, but I hardly noticed as I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Oh, but you aren't afraid of heights?"

"It isn't the height that scares me," I protested, eyes, thighs, and fingers still clenched, "It's the broom, the goddamn BROOM!"

"Shh, everyone'll hear us," Wood said, sounding smug and amused behind me.

I would've turned and clawed his freaking pretty-boy brown eyes out, if I didn't feel the broom quiver underneath me, sending another wave of terror and a little bit of nausea flowing through my system and affectively shutting me up and keeping me wherever I felt most protected, which happened to be just the position I was in.

"Now, m'am, I want you to open your eyes."

"Of course they're open," I lied easily. Lie to my teachers? No sweat... Why am I Head Girl?

"Oh really? What part of Hogwarts are we facing, then?"

"The Forbidden Forest," I answered, visualizing the map of Hogwarts in my head.

"Wrong."

"What? When did we turn? How far?"

"Open your eyes and you'll see."

I groaned, "Why can't you just tell me?"

"Because then you'll never open your eyes and I'll have to teach you to fly with your eyes closed, and you'll never pass the test."

"Curiosity killed the cat," I pointed out, "And slow and steady wins the race. I'm on the broom and not dying, that's my step for today."

"What's the next step, dying? At that rate, you'll be here 'til next Christmas and I'd like to think that you're brighter than a cat anyway."

My eyes opened in shock, and I looked over my shoulder in confusion, "Was that a compliment?"

Wood just smirked at me, "Your eyes are open."

My brow shot up in confusion, and I only had to look down for a moment before screaming and shutting my eyes again, "I HATE YOU WOOD!"

"Shh, if someone hears you then you're going to be the one dealing with the rumors. It's no sweat off my back if the first years think I bang you in the broom closet."

My face contracted as I turned to face Wood, "That's disgusting."

"Just look at where we're facing."

I rolled my eyes, resolving to stop shaking and never look at the ground while flying again. The wind blew my hair in my face, and I deftly raised my trembling hand to my face to tuck the blonde mass behind my ear before seeing that we were facing, "The Forbidden Forest. Jerk."

Wood laughed a deep laugh in my ear before slowly leaning to the right, causing my heart to jump as he forced me to lean with him precariously to one side of the broom, "Ya, but it worked. Now just watch."

As we turned, Wood gave the play-by-play about what he was doing, which I promptly ignored and tried to figure out how I was going to get out of next week's lesson. I couldn't take much more of this - I've only got so much stress I can take before my brain overflows and drips into my potion, making Wiggins hate me even more.

I heard Wood sputter behind me as he leaned forward, pressing his chest to my back, "Darling, will you please do something about your hair."

"And what do you suppose I do," I questioned, glancing anywhere but at the ground, which is hard because Wood is leaning down more so we go faster, and the only way I don't see the ground is if I look sideways.

"Use one of those ponytail things."

"I am not taking my hands off this broom."

"If you don't," Wood said, using a semi-threatening tone of voice, "I will. The choices are get your hair out of my face or I'll end up steering us into the castle and you'll miss the view."

"What is this view you keep talking about," I slightly begged.

"I can't tell you if I'm choking on your hair! You're like Medusa, or something!" Wood coughed for emphasis.

I started to panic at the idea of taking my hands off the broom, certain that if I fell I wouldn't be able to change in time. "I am not taking my hands off this broom."

"I thought the broom scared you," Wood pointed out, leaving me to be angry and silent and in need of a muggle respirator. Wood sighed, "Do you at least have a ponytail?"

"Yes," I said, before he started to awkwardly grope at my wrists, hooking his thumb into the rubber-fabric hybrid and pulling it off my wrist.

He then took his hands off the broom, and it gave a sudden lurch. I screamed as I gripped it tighter and tried to steady it, but Wood didn't seem to mind as he worked his fingers through my hair. My throat grew as tight as my chest, but I just ignored the fear and concentrated on keeping the broom still.

"If you hadn't been a baby about putting up your hair yourself," Wood said as he laid his hands back over my own, and I welcomed them and their control quietly, "I could've kept the broom steady."

"I am not taking my hands off this broom."

"Will you at least loosen up with your legs? I'm pretty sure you're going to snap the broom in half."

I half-heartedly released the smallest possible amount of pressure in my legs, "Sorry."

"It's alright, just look up."

Wood straightened, moving his hands back and I could feel his sickening pride radiating through him, but for this one moment it seemed completely warranted as I looked up and saw the sun setting over the lake, "Holy shit. This is intense."

And it was - I'd never bothered to watch the sunset from way up in the sky, and it's a completely different experience. The colors seemed... brighter. Like there was somehow less atmosphere to interfere with the rays of sunlight, which were bursting out of the sun at every which way.

"Don't you wish you could see this more often?"

Momentarily awed and dumb-struck, I nodded my head. Wood, then, wrapped his hands around my wrists, lifting them off the broom and straight out to my sides, where he let them dangle.

"Now, m'am-" I could hear the smile in his voice as he used his apparent name for me. The sunset was starting to fade and become less fantastic, and I was starting to realize just how high I was in the air, and the fact that my hands weren't on the broom, "I need you to just relax. Don't let your arms fall."

"But... this is uncomfortable," I complained. It was - my arms could not keep this up for very long.

"I know," he stopped whispering, and the spell of the sunset ended abruptly, "But you've got to learn to trust that the broom won't break. Just trust that you won't fall off, and I'll have you ready for the test in three weeks."

Wood made his way back to the pitch quickly, much too quickly for my taste. He smiled, apparently pleased when he landed, but I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze as I nearly tripped off the broom. The moment I touched the ground, I realized how idiotically far this had gone in my head.

I half-heartedly had realized that, somehow, the fear of brooms didn't seem intense enough to cause all my physical symptoms, and I was thinking clearly enough to realize the rather picturesque timing of some of my mild heart attacks.

"Same time next week?" Wood's deep Scottish voice brought me back down to Earth - apparently I'm still flying around in the warm glow of the sunset.

"Yeah," I responded, feeling myself blush and cursing myself for it. I tugged my hair out of its ponytail so I could pull at it, "Yeah, I guess so." _Not._

"Alright, the-"

I ran out of the pitch, yelling that I really had to get to my homework. My stomach was grumbling, remembering its hunger in the absence of fear. Yes, that's all. _Fear._ Because Professor Oliver Wood isn't even mildly attractive.

Not even a little.


	10. God Must Hate Me

I huffed a breath of semi-foggy air - my second lesson had just finished, and I've already gotten my broom to answer my commands on the ground. I even hovered in the air for a few seconds all by myself. Wood is pleased - he says that I've gotten over my fear, and that I'll be passing my test in just a few weeks if I keep up the pace.

But I beg to differ - he took me for a flight around the castle, to "remind me what I'm working towards" at the end of the lesson, and I still had trouble breathing. I actually became dizzy from lack of air and had to make Wood land.

That happened right after I asked him a question about technique and he told me to call him Oliver while we were in the air. I hadn't been breathing properly since we took off, and I guess that's when my brain, sans oxygen, started to rebel. I yelled that it didn't matter what I called him because suddenly Hogwarts had three times as many towers than normal and I wanted to land immediately.

We landed, I fell to the ground and as I waited to get the feeling in my legs back, Oliver, err, Wood made a smart ass comment about girls and weak stomachs.

Obviously, that didn't go over well.

I screamed, I cursed, I jabbed my finger into his face, and generally ignored the fact that he was my teacher. I made it very clear that he had no right to make assumptions about women and their weak stomachs when he came from a woman's stomach and wouldn't be here without one.

I said that all in one long breath before I stormed away toward the castle.

_He must not be a person,_ I decided. Thank the lord that I don't have to go to lessons next week anyway. My class had formed a petition that stated that we, as seventh years, should be allowed to do something special for Halloween instead of just a stupid little banquet with everyone else.

Poor professor McGonagall was quite flabbergasted when, just a week back from vacation last year, she was given such a petition, and hardly knew what to do other than agree to our demands, after a meeting with the prefects.

So now Hagrid gets to tromp around the forest looking for a place for us all to camp out that isn't too dangerous. He told me, among the other angry mutterings about our brat year, that it was by a lake and it would be absolutely beautiful.

He's now spending the entire week camping out at the spot to make sure that it's safe. I have no idea who is covering his classes, but I vaguely remember Siren telling me that Wood had covered her class once. I figured, though, that the chances of him covering my class for the entire week as being _nul._ McGonagall wouldn't put me on that much of a Wood-overload.

_Cause we all know what happens when I've got too much Wood. Hint: It was how I met him second year, and has happened pretty much whenever I've been near him since._

* * *

"Hey," I yawned at Penny as she leaned against a tree to the side of the path leading down to Hagrid's hut. She and I were in the 'advanced' class together, our first class on a Monday morning. Actually, I couldn't think of a better class to wake up to on such a horrid day.

"Hey," Penny smirked back at my too-tired-stupor.

I hadn't been getting enough sleep these past few weekends because of certain **lessons** I was taking. It cut into homework time and I'd been in the habit of leaving all homework to the weekends.

I stumbled next to her as she continued, "So, leaving Friday morning for the camping trip. Excited?"

"Not even remotely," I told her. Camping wasn't a fear of mine or anything, it just seemed... uncomfortable.

"You obviously haven't heard whose leading it," Penny smirked at me. The girl who slept next to her was in charge of the trip, and she knew most, if not all, of the details.

"Who, Rogers?" Professor Rogers was our new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, and he was the only teacher I could see leading the trip and being decent.

"Oh, no, think much more amusingly."

"Wiggins," I guessed as we arrived at Hagrid's hut, rubbing at my eyes.

"Oh, come on, you're gonna _love_ it."

"I'm not gonna love the trip in general, you mine as well just tell me," I told her, scratching at the base of my ponytail before pulling it out and letting my hair fall in front of my face in a messy pile. I'd heard whoever it was who shared my bathroom with in the shower this morning, and simply left to get breakfast.

I started to comb through it with my fingers as Penny begged, "No! It's not any fun if you don't guess!"  
"It's no fun either way," I grumbled, "Tell me now."

"Cranky puss."

"Hello class," I groaned openly at the accent, my hair still tangled in front of my face. I heard Wood's heavy footsteps pause next to me, "Hello, Cousin It." _I want to kick him in the face SO badly right now._ "I'll be covering your Care of Magical Creatures class for the week, so if I could clearly make out your faces it would be most helpful."

The class laughed politely at his joke, and I gathered my hair into its unruly ponytail as he started taking role. Penny smirked, "Well, speak of the devil."

"Thank you," I said, "Someone else understands how absolutely intolerable he is!"

"No, no, he's not the devil, but he is the chaperone for our class trip."

"WHAT?!"

"Darling, I know your last name is not Retz, so if you'll please not cover for whomever it is who may or may not be here, I promise not to give you a detention."

...

_ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?_ God has got to hate me. There is no other plausible explanation to how I manage to have so much horrible luck. It's not even a joke, I don't want anyone to be laughing, God seriously hates me.

It's not funny.

"You've got to be joking," I grabbed Penny's arm, dragging her to the back of the pack of students as they followed the bane of my existence towards the forest to study some sort of magical freaking slug.

"No, he volunteered apparently. Said he thought it would be a great opportunity to get to know the school better."

"He just wants to get to know the girls who are drooling all over him! God, he's probably going so he can illegally bang some poor shy seventh year who thinks they'll get together."

"Yeah, like you," Penny snorted with laughter into her hand.

"No, this is serious, he's gonna get someone hurt! He doesn't know how to deal if a freaking creature tries to kill us!"

"You'd better start studying up," Penny joked, "ON HIS BODY!" Her voice rang through the woods, and a few people gave us odd stares as she started to crack up, "I wouldn't be able to defend anyone either if I was-"

I jumped up to cover her mouth and smile apologetically at everyone, "Sorry."

"Everything alright back there," Wood called, not bothering to look back at us.

"Yeah," I screamed back up, "Just fine! Penny just... stepped on a snail."

"Well, bite your tongue next time, it's just a snail."

"Yes sir," I called back. I kept my hand over Penny's mouth as I began to lecture her, "Now, Penny, it is much too early in the morning for you to be starting new rumors. In fact, it will always be too early for you to be starting new rumors. Now if I open your mouth and one bit of false information about me and Wood spews out of your mouth, I will permanently sew your mouth shut. Clear?"

Penny nodded, a sour look on her face when I removed my hand. She spit, as if she had licked me hand and it had tasted horrible, "Man, you really are being cranky today."

"I just stopped appreciating the joke that was never funny."

"Fine, fine, whatever," she muttered, wiping what spit hadn't quite managed to fly off her face, "Sorry I even mentioned it."

I brooded as I made my way towards the far left side of the class as we stopped to marvel at the slimy pieces of matter that Hagrid had been lecturing us on and teaching us about for the past week. I ignored what Wood was saying, instead taking to making various accords with God so that Wood could magically not be our chaperone.

I've got faith that it'll happen, too. I mean, I can make things fly by saying the right words and having a piece of polished wood - you think offering my free will won't get me out of a bad situation?

* * *

I tugged at the end of my ponytail as I stood at the door to the library - apparently Penny had taken my mini-blow-up personally, a bad habit of both Susan and Penny. Willow scolded me for it at dinner, and now I had to apparently to go play nice for a few minutes so that Penny's own personal sky, which was of course the real sky because she's just that important, would stop falling.

You know, for a group of girls who are generally rejected as freaks among the magical public, you'd really think we'd be better at taking an extra moment's worth of rejection from each other about a bad joke. Because that's all Wood and I are - a bad joke.

"Hey Pens," I said, finally walking into the front half of the library to sit next to her.

Penny glanced up at me before burying her head back into a book. _And she wonders why people think she's a Ravenclaw,_ I thought sarcastically to myself. I sat down next to her, knowing better than to give up. If Penny was mad at me, then Susan was mad at me, meaning Willow is stuck bordering and I'm not pushy enough to make her choose, and Siren hates it when people fight anyway.

"So, whatchya reading?" Penny showed me the spine of her book before stonily replacing it in her lap.

I sighed, ready to scream at her that she had to try and work it out too before I heard a nondescript, "PSST!" I looked around, my brow furrowed, "PSST!"

I spotted Wood behind the bookshelf which separated the front section from one of the mini-study rooms. He looked like a fool, madly waving his arms at me, obviously to come join him. _Oh no, I'm in this fight because people have to think he and I are having sex - I am __not__ joining him behind a bookshelf in the library, thank you very much._

I shook my head at him, mouthing 'no' and turning back to Penny. In the midst of desperately trying to think of something to say to her, I heard a book fall to the floor. My head snapped in that direction, and I saw a sign written in disgustingly pompous handwriting, _Do you want help or not?!_

Wood's eyes peeked at me before he disappeared behind the bookshelf again. I rolled my eyes, I do **not** need his help. In fact, the last thing I need is his help.

"Ah, Miss Darling, I believe you're here for your detention," Wood questioned, walking up after an hour of torturing-silence later, which is the equivalent of about a minute in the real world.

"Detention?" _Oh come ON, Wood, you can't be thinking flying NOW!_

"Yes, detention, for speaking so many times out of line today in class," he said.

My brow furrowed, "You only dared to give me a detention, you never gave me on-"

"I've decided that you will be helping Madame Prince to organize this section of the library." Wood grabbed my arm and pulled me up, "This one, over here, behind this bookshelf. You know this one, it's authors Bw to Chr-"

I pulled my arm out from Wood's grasp as he dragged me behind the bookshelf, "What do you think you're doing?"

I'd started to whisper so we wouldn't draw attention, and Wood followed suit, "Quite honestly, Darling, you're drowning in there!"

"You don't even know what I'm trying to do!"

"You made some idiotic mistake that your friend blew out of proportion and now you're trying to make up for it?"

My eyes narrowed suspiciously, "How do you know about that?"

"Lucky guess, now do you want my help or not?"

I bit my lip, glancing between Penny and Wood. Penny and I had never been very close, so I wasn't quite sure how to handle her anger as well as I could Susan's or Willow's. "What makes you think you're so good at this anyway?"

"Experience."

I arched an eyebrow at him, "You expect me to trust that? That's the most shady answer you've ever given me."

"I'm a teacher, trust that I'm more experienced-" _Oh God._ "Now I'm telling you, just completely and totally throw yourself at her feet."

"No way," I exclaimed, almost forgetting to whisper. I had never had to go to those extremes with Willow or Susan, and I don't even like Penny **that** much! I have my pride - this we all know.

"It's not as bad as it sounds, just... ask for her help with something. Sound like you need her."

"But I _don't_ need her."

"Doesn't matter! She wouldn't want the truth if she knew what it was."

"That's the most un-teacher-like thing I've ever heard come out of a teacher's mouth," I told him honestly. _Because that's what people are supposed to be, HONEST!_ "I can't put a hundred percent into the apology."

"You can, and you're going to have to, now get out of here and go save your social life!"

"You're being so weird," I grimaced at him. And really, he is. Since when does any professor, let alone _Wood,_ offer up social advice.

"I'm very involved in the school, now go make friends!"

He pushed me out from behind the bookcase, prompting me to bash into the edge of another one behind me. I smiled lopsidedly at the librarian as she glared at me, "I'll just... sit down, then."

Madame Prince's eyes followed me to my seat next to Penny, where the red-head regarded me stonily, "Well, aren't you just so quick at organizing."

I sighed, glancing between my brown-eyed stalker and Penny, trying to decide which path to take - mine, or Wood's. _If he's wrong, you I could always rub it in his face later._ "Well, I'm quick at a lot of things with Wood."

It wasn't **quite** throwing myself at her feet. I couldn't bring myself to go that far, but it was a start. It was a bit of a halfway mark, or something. Whatever the hell it was, it worked. Penny started to giggle, and would converse with me openly. The delicate dynamic of my group of friends was saved, and Siren could breathe freely.

I won't admit that it's all because of Wood's advice, though. Oh no, he's too stupid for that.

**Experience my ass.**

God this weekend is going to suck.


	11. All the Things She Said

Sorry this is so late. I forgot completely about a vacation to see my sister this weekend, and me even getting on the computer for personal purposes (aka to post a notice that there wouldn't be one Saturday) would've caused major problems. But here ya go - enjoy. :)

* * *

So far, camping has turned out to be an unmitigated disaster - that's right, I went there. A disaster without mitigation. And we haven't even left yet - we're waiting for his royal highness Wood to finish taking role, which will be followed by a rule briefing, and then we'll actually be going on our three-hour hike to the spot.

All the prefects and other sorts of officially-trusted students have been paired up. We're supposed to be deciding who will be stationed where around the students so that we can help get the hike underway once his royal highness has finished. We're also supposed to be carrying a bunch of extra gear, in addition to our own stuff for the weekend.

Take all that, add in the fact that it's seven thirty and Professor Wiggins gave me a ten-inch essay on some weird Draught I've never heard of last night due Monday, and it all adds up to me hating camping. Really, this year has just become a year of hating everything that crosses my path - slime, Wood, Tom, Brendon, Wiggins, dirty floors, moving before eight o'clock, and of course brooms.

I think last year I hated a total of Wiggins, slime, and dirty floors - Brendon was nice to me when I was dating Tom. Not the freaky, slightly deranged boy who is eying me up almost continuously in the hallways. Not that I'm special, or anything close to his only flame - I'm just finally available, and any available girl under three billion kilograms makes his pants twitch.

Ginny was taking care of getting us a spot, as she was my partner, and I trusted her judgment. That, and I pity her for the rough year she's been having, what with her boyfriend going into hiding and leaving her in a widow-like-state. She deserves to walk where she wants in the group hike, among other privileges.

She smiled over at me, giving me a thumbs up - I guess we got the spot we wanted. I glanced at the board hovering in front of us to see that we were in the back, away from the prying eyes of teachers and most of the students. _Well, if she wants to be a recluse._

"And now I'll need someone to come up and help me make some demonstrations. Any volunteers?"

Wood looked hopefully into the crowd, and I glanced up at him - what the hell does he need to be demonstrating? _Alright kids, here's how you PROPERLY sneak out into the woods to have sex with me._ I smirked to myself at my own joke - I really cheer myself up.

"Darling volunteers," Some girl called obnoxiously from the middle of the student-group. _Like hell I do..._ Wood glanced at me hopefully, and I shot him a glare.

"Uh, no, no, I don't think that was her."

Wood's stuttering? Oh God, he's dying a painful death up there, isn't he? Why wasn't I watching? I'm such an idiot, not watching as my new-found mortal enemy dies in front of a crowd due to stress. I'm off my game.

I felt a sharp poke in my side, and glanced over to see Ginny giving me a sad look. _What does she...? Oh no, no way._ "Go help him out."

"No," I whispered back at her, as Wood questioned people, "He's doing fine."

"He doesn't know how to talk to older teenagers - he's only comfortable with the younger children. Help him out."

"If you're so concerned with his being hung out to dry, then you go help him."

"I can't, it's complicated."

My brow furrowed, _It's complicated? What does she mean it's complicated... Complicated usually means... no, no way. Not in any way, shape, or possible half-form di-_ "Darling, did I hear you say something?"

My jaw dropped a little, and I glanced between Ginny's puppy dog eyes and Wood's flushed face. _Oh, come on, at least it isn't publically complicated with you, Ginny. Don't do this to m-_ "I'll come help you out," I gave in to Ginny's all but trembling lip.

Really, I thought Ginny was this strong, tomboyish Gryffindor. She can't suck up some weird relationship bull to help out her brother's friend? And what about Potter? Rumor has it she's liked him since second year, but... AGH! NOW I'M ALL CONFUSED!

Wood seemed generally surprised as I stood, glaring at Ginny before the students parted like the Red Sea to let me help out my rumored-lover. _God, I hate Ginny's sad little lip,_ I thought as I looked back at her to see her smiling happily.

"Now, what we're most worried about are trolls. You can usually hear them coming, but if you happen to stumble upon one, then there are some very specific steps you'll want to follow. First and foremost, secure your wand in your hand. Darling, please demonstrate."

I looked at him oddly, reaching into my back pocket and holding my wand up into the air, "Look! My wand is firmly placed in my hand!"

Some students laughed, and Wood smiled thankfully at the sound, and probably reveling in the fact that they weren't laughing at his foolishness, "After that, you'll want to get safe. Darling."

_Oh, come on, give me something to work with. We're standing in the middle of a lawn._ I finally decided to walk in a nice loop and hide behind Wood - having a human shield counts as being safe, right? Definitely. Especially if it's someone as inconsequential as Wood.

"Cute, Darling, cute," Wood commented dryly.

"I thought so," I replied, taking a firm hold of his shoulders and throwing him around about a bit.

I could hear him chuckle as I gave him one final shake, "And then you want to call to me."

"Want me to demonstrate that one?"

"No, I think we all know how to shout. In the event that I'm too far away to hear you, shoot up red sparks for a troll, blue sparks for any other creature, and green if you need any medical attention. Does everyone understand that?" After a choir of 'yes' and 'whatever,' Wood clapped his hands and told everyone to start for the woods, following him. He smiled, patting me on the back as everyone started to walk off in the general direction of the woods, "Thanks."

I stood there in shock for a second, letting all the other students pass me by. _Did he really just thank me?_ I could almost feel Ginny's happiness radiating from her body, though, as she hugged me from behind, "You are a good person."

"Yeah, yeah," I yawned at her, "We're going to talk about why I'm such a good person, later."

"Alright, everyone," Wood called from his spot near the front of the group, "It's time for a break!"

I groaned as I let my pack fall to the ground, my butt following it. "Really," I told Ginny as she sat down gracefully beside me, "We're a freaking school for magic. Why the hell can't we just magically float the packs there? Would it really be too much to ask?"

"I think McGonagall wanted us to carry them for the experience. Make us appreciate the struggles of living a Muggle life."

"She just hates us cause we wanted to be cool and do something other than a feast," I retorted. Ginny snorted at me, and I looked over at her, "So, why is it complicated with you and Wood."

"He and my brothers had a bit of a falling out, and I was caught in the middle of it all," she said, not exactly easily, but because she knew she owed it to me.

My brow furrowed, _No, no, they really didn't..._ "Were they fighting because you guys..."

Ginny's eyes went wide as she met my gaze, "God, no! No, I don't know why they fought, but I was the closest friend Wood had besides the twins, but George and Fred are my brothers."

It went without saying that Ginny meant that she'd been Wood's closest friend at the Order. As an ex-member of Dumbledore's Army, Ginny had come to trust me with the fact that her family was part of the Order. Not with the actual location or anything, but not to try and hide the fact that she spent her time out of Hogwarts fighting the war that I planned on becoming a part of ASAP.

Ginny bit her lip for a moment before adding, "Though if it weren't for Harry, and Oliver might actually go for it..."

"Ginny," I groaned, "I live with hearing that constantly, and I share my dorm with a guy! Don't tell me you've become a Woodie too."

I'd decided a few days ago to call the girls who were obsessed with Wood Woodies. It just seemed to fit. I could've been meaner about it - I also considered calling them Termites, but that just seemed dirty.

Ginny giggled, "No, no, I'm no Woodie, but still. He's a sweet guy, really, under his very one-minded exterior. He had a hard time with his father, I think."

"Oh, a sob story."

Ginny rolled her eyes and slapped my arm, "Not a sob story. I've just met his father once, at a shop in Diagon Alley. Wood and I were going to visit Fred and George at their shop the summer before last, and he nearly died when his father walked by. Said his father hadn't spoken to him in years, and that was all. His father didn't even look at us." Ginny shook the memory away, "But really - he's a great guy. Very sweet, thoughtful, perceptive, humble, self-sacrifising, that sort of man. As long as you aren't on the opposing team - then he's merciless."

I watched Wood as he lined up students for cups of water, barking orders at them and cracking a joke every now and then, "Really? Cause all my experience with him as proved him to be no better than most cavemen."

Ginny laughed at my metaphor, "Didn't you get into a fight with him in second year?"

"Yeah, over Quidditch. God, I hate Quidditch."

"He remembered you," Ginny commented.

I wondered briefly, remembering the fact that Wood is my teacher in addition to my least favorite person on this trip, if I should know this. _Of course I should._ "What do you mean?"  
"I asked him once why he was always so intense about Quidditch, and he said that he'd always had been and he loved flying, the typical answer, but he added that if it wasn't for people like you he might not find it worth it."

"Huh?"  
"He wants to prove that Quidditch is just as demanding as being a Healer, or an Auror. Well, I should say wanted."

"What does he want now?"

"I'm not quite sure, really. I haven't talked to him since the summer before last; then he got into a fight with my brothers and voila - instant ex-communication. I've got not idea what's going on in that head of his."

"That's probably a good idea," I commented, still watching Wood deal with my classmates. He's gotten better with them, I guess. He still looks tense, though.

Ginny stood, then, brushing off her butt, "Yeah. I just wish some of these girls would give him a break. He's not all Quidditch and muscle and sex god. I can't imagine him liking all that attention."

I looked up at her, my brow furrowed, _Wood doesn't like his Woodies? Maybe termites __**would**__ be more appropriate._ "Really? Why would you say that?"  
"Oh, he's deathly shy with girls." She laughed, accepting a glass of water from the male Hufflepuff prefect, "You should've seen him this one time in a bar. I mean, er-" She glanced around, making sure the boy was well out of ear-shot, "You won't tell if I was in bar, would you?"

"No," I replied, rolling my eyes. Some Head Girl I am.

"Alright, well," she sat back down Indian-style, leaning in to whisper to me, "This one time, it was the four of us, me and him and the twins, and some girl recognized him. She was just absolutely thrashed, throwing herself all over him and very loudly declaring that he had nice ears." Ginny giggled, "He blushed eight different shades of red, and he isn't even a red head! All he could do was offer an autograph and hide in the loo for the rest of the night. Oh, it was classic."

"Alright, you lot, let's get going! We'll make it before lunch, easily. Just another hour and a half," Wood declared from the front of the group.

I tugged at the end of my ponytail as I watched Wood leading the way, trying to imagine the shy, sweet picture that Ginny had painted for me. Talking to Ginny enough had proved that she was both a good judge of character and honest, a potent combination when it came to reshaping my personal belief system. _And he did say thanks before..._

Around the end of the hike, Wood finally came around to the back to make sure Ginny and I were doing alright. "Oi," he called to us, "How're my favorite girls?"

Immediately, this inexplicable feeling of anger and the certainty that Wood was nothing but a womanizer entered my chest, pulling at my heart and throat, "We're fine."

Wood's brow furrowed, "You sure, Darling? You sound like you just ate a bug."

"I'm just a little thirsty," I lied, trying my best to use my eyes to communicate my thoughts, so Ginny wouldn't be subjected to the fighting, _Leave me the fuck alone._

"Oh, well, I've got some water right h-"

"No thanks, it just magically went away," I replied, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

Wood glanced between me and the front of the group, where Tom was leading everyone in the hike, "Ginny, would you please tell that Head Boy that he's going the wrong way." Ginny nodded, hurrying towards the front of the group without glancing back. I narrowed my eyes at her back, _Traitor._

Wood inched closer to me, speaking softly, "Darling, what's wrong?"

I looked up at him, "If I didn't say while Ginny was here, why would I say it once she's left if I like her more than you?"

His jaw dropped a little, "What have I done to offend you today?" I gave him one final glare before turning back to keep my eyes on the straggling students, "Darling, I'm sorry, but what did I do?"

"Just go back to your Woodies," I replied.

His eyebrow cocked up in confusion, "My what?"

"Tom 'requests politely' that you rejoin him upfront, because he has no idea where to head if not straight," Ginny said, running back to my side.

"Straight will take us right into a swamp, the idiot," Wood muttered, glancing between me and Ginny. He took a few steps forward before snarling at me, "Detention, Darling. A real one this time."

_Oh, that sounds innocent to all the NON-INNOCENT-MINDED EARS! Why, Wood, do you insist on fueling their fire?_ "You can't give me a detention for that!" I yelled after him as he reached the edge of the crowd of students.

He turned back to face me, "For referring to my... Woodies? I think I can. That is highly inappropriate."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT YOUR WOODIES ARE!" I screamed desperately back at him, "I am **not** going to a detention with you!"

"Then you'll get two. Make my day, Darling," Wood replied, slipping into the crowd of students to set us on the right course.

"How did you do that," Ginny questioned.

"Do what?"

"That! Make him so... angry," Ginny gestured towards her ex-friend, "So he'd give you a detention, and then threaten another."

"I wouldn't tell him why I was angry," I replied quietly, glaring at the back of Wood's head.

"Why **were** you angry?"

'He called us his favorites girls," I replied, "I find that to be a very sexist comment and I did not appreciate it."

"Whoa."

"What?"

"Nothing."


	12. Honestly

So, you supporters of Oliver and Aly, whom I'm trying to come up with a celebrity couple name for, (I already know Carden and Deans, for all of you who reads 'Dance with the Devil,' is Cardean. It's just the only way I think it works.) are going to love this chapter.

Actually, you're going to love the next, like four chapters. And hopefully the rest of the series, but these next four or so definately.

* * *

"So," Siren sat next to me, clad only in a bikini top and very short shorts, despite the nippy weather. She ignored the goose bumps on her arms as she flipped her hair at me, "Rumor has it Wood told you he was going to give you a-" She paused for comic effect, flipping her hair again and looking fake-sultry, _"Real_ detention."

I groaned, "Why does Wood hate me?"

"Cause the sex is always better in a love-hate relationship," Willow explained casually next to me, sitting in her one piece.

"Now there are some girls who are angry at you and your-" Penny paused, imitating Siren's affect and flipping her nut-brown hair in my face, _"Real_ detention. That you don't deserve it."

"So we," Susan continued, kneeling in front of me and smiling cheekily, "Think that you should show them you definitely deserve the most bang-worthy teacher in the school by shaking what your mother gave you over in the lake."

I groaned again, this time at my friends, "I wish I never taught you guys the phrase, 'shake what ya mama gave ya.' You don't even use it right."

"But you did teach it to us, and we're using it to our advantage, so come on," Siren said, grabbing my hands.

"No, guys, you know how I am, I hate swimming," I complained.

It's true - I just happen to be one of those girls who hates putting her body on display like a piece of very tender and yet worthless meat by wearing a bathing suit made only of ropes the diameter of my pinky finger. Go figure.

"Come on, the water's really nice, Wood put a charm on it, it's like a hot tub," Penny gushed, "And you know soaking is no fun if you aren't there to tell us what actually happened when the sixth years were caught snogging after lights out."

"Gee, I feel appreciated," I muttered.

"Come on, or we'll force you in," Siren begged, pouting at me.

"Guys, go on, I have this essay, and now this detention. I'll shake what my mama gave me another time, alright? And there will be no doubt that I deserve my detention."

"When are you going to wear a bathing suit in public?"

"The... end of the year bash in the lake," I suggested feebly.

"No such thing," Willow responded, giving me a look that scolded 'that's-the-best-you-can-come-up-with?'

"Well, we're going to start that tradition. Can you imagine how fun it would be? You know the squid would attack, and we can just roll and laugh in the shallo-"

"Aly," Susan pouted at me.

"Guys, really, another time, I need to get at least an A on this essay so Wiggins won't kick me out of his class, and I don't even know what a-" I glanced at the paper where I'd written town my topic, "A Price Removal Draught does. And even I can't do ten inches on one night of research."

"Well, fine, we'll just sit and distract you he-"

"No, guys, really, please, just leave me be, I'll come on in when I need a break," I said hopefully. My friends learned this new thing the other day - persistence. It's worse than when I taught them 'shake what ya mama gave ya.' I'll forever curse myself.

"Alright," Siren said, and I looked at her with wide eyes.

That was it? That was all I had to do? Say please? Oh God, now they've got a plan - I can tell, Penny has that look in her eyes. I'll kill whoever taught them to plan - that was not my doing.

They stood at once, and I eyed them for a moment , reassuring myself that they weren't going to interfere anymore. Potions is an important subject no matter what you want to do. It shows how well you follow directions to future employers.

It doesn't matter that what I want to do - which is raise and breed dragons - really has nothing to do with potions. It's the impression it makes on the employers that makes all the difference.

Sighing and wishing I could be almost anywhere but sitting on the beach of a beautiful lake, working on a potions essay, I picked my Handbook to Every Elixer, a book generally frowned upon by Wiggins, but it's really great when it comes to these essays so I deal with his annoyance. Every potion has its own three 

pages, full of very organized and specific charts that tell me everything I could possibly need to know about the potion.

I set the book in my lap, reading silent to myself. _A Price Removal Draught is composed of thirteen and a half feathers of Griffen, four eyes of newt, a t-_

Suddenly, arms scooped me up, and I instantly recognized them - how many times had they scooped me up at Susan's house and dumped me into the pool there? I could hear the girls' laughs as I started to flail, "Brendon, this isn't even close to funny, put me down right now!"

"Aw, Darling, just a little dip, you'll like it, I promise."

Something about the way he said that made me shiver with disgust, and it was during the shiver that he dropped me into artificially-warmed lake water. My butt hit the rocky bottom almost immediately, leaving me to flail back to the surface.

I stood, my jeans dripping, my face getting red as I caught sight of the pompous ass who seemed to think he was worthy of being called a person, "You little weasel!"

I dove for him - I didn't care much about the repercussions. I was working, working, and I have been working since I got up this morning. All I ask is for an hour of peace to finish my writing, to finish with my essay that, despite my laid-back attitude towards everything work-related, has been worrying and will continue to worry me until I get it back and see how I did.

And what does the do? HE THROWS ME IN A FREAKING LAKE!

I caught him on his jaw, punching him and pushing at him 'til we were back on shore, screaming profanities at him as he stood there, quite obviously unsure of what to do. That is, until he came up with the perfect comeback to me telling him he had such a small penis he was barely considered a man.

"Ah, so you think about my penis on a regular basis, do you?"

I swear, a vein in my neck popped, and a few in my forehead too. I screamed like a banshee, halfway through jumping up to claw his eyes out when two strong arms wrapped around me, holding me to the ground, "I really think that's enough, Darling."

I recognized the voice immediately, my arms breaking loose and pushing against the body that had me pinned as I turned to face him, "AND YOU! You just LOVE make everything worse, don't you? Not only do you have to insist upon attempting to be a part of every bit of my personal life, because that isn't enough, no, you insist upon PROVIDING MORE INSANE RUMORS! You knowingly do it, I know you do! And you know why?" Oh shit, I think this might be going too far. "Because you like the attention! Whatever happened that made you quit professional Quidditch, you came back to relive the glory days, when you were winning the Quidditch cup and allowed to walk around like a-"

"Darling," Wood said in a warning voice, effectively cutting me off.

The way he looked at me said it all - I had touched some sort of nerve, and I wouldn't get out of this one with a cute curtsy and some crocodile tears. No, no, Wood was pissed, and I'd attacked Brendon. Yeah, yeah, I'm in for it.

"Well," I started, tugging at my hair desperately. _There's always hope!_ "I think this was a really good experience. It really, erm, you know, brought a lot unknown stressors in this delicate Hogwarts social-balance to light. I really think we will all benefit from knowing how I feel and, more important, how hurtful words can be wh-"

"Darling," Wood growled, "My tent, now."

_Oh fuck, he might murder me._ "Yes sir," I squeaked, following him along.

Wood stormed in front of me, not bothering to even grab my wrist and drag me along behind him violently. I don't know it that makes things better or worse, but I'm going to assume worse.

His tent was directly in front of the fire pit, and so it was a relatively short walk up the sandy hill and into the cover of trees. He walked through the opening, throwing the opening flaps aside angrily and, I swear, twitching as he rounded back on me.

I stood as close to the door as I could without looking suspicious, and Wood turned on me, "Darling, you are to never, **never** talk about why I quit professional Quidditch." I tried to keep a cap on my anger at being ordered around as he continued, "And I don't know where you got this idea that I'm some deranged glory-hog, but I must say I'm disappointed in you." He paused, letting his eyes fall and no longer looking so extremely crossed, "Well, I guess I do know where you got that idea, but really, I expected more from you. To just take me at face value like that. Really - I'd always thought better of you, Darling." He fell silent, thoughtfully.

I honestly didn't know what to say - really? That's it? Disappointment and a reminder that assuming makes an ass out of you and me? Cause really, if I did that in front of any other teacher, I would be in serious jeopardy of losing my title as Head Girl. That was definitely not model-student behavior.

"You could lose your position as Head Girl if McGonagall finds out about this," Wood mused to himself, looking at me. I nodded, not quite sure whether or not I was allowed to speak, and not finding any amusement in the parallelism. He sighed, "Well, then I'll just take care of it myself. Uh, I guess just a hundred points from Ravenclaw and... three more detentions."

I snorted, unable to contain my thoughts, "You aren't very good with this punishment thing."

He smiled awkwardly, "Not really, no."

"But you manage to pull detentions out of nowhere when you're angry at me."

"Yeah, sorry about that, you don't have to come to that one," Wood admitted, almost blushing as he rubbed the back of his neck.

I looked at him, torn between helping him and escaping while the punishment was bearable. I thought of Ginny's opinion, and how she had spoken about him, and I finally gave in to a kinder instinct, "Well, as far as punishing goes, there are very thin lines, with a very narrow section of 'fair.' When I have to punish someone, I take into account three things: first off - how it reflects on the school; next is how many priors the person has had; and the last is how many technical rules it's broken. I've always thought of it like a point system - one point for every rule it's broken, for how many priors, and then how it reflects on the school is a one to ten sliding scale."

"And that works?"

"I've never had anyone complain to me about my punishments. I mean, I have, but they never can actually prove that I'm being unfair."

Wood smiled, "Alright, so you broke... about six rules, let's say?"

"More like four, but alright," I corrected, trying to ignore the fact that all I wanted to do was laugh at him because he was being so cute about this whole thing.

"We'll go with five - but you gave a horrible impression of the school, so that's a ten."

"Yeah."

"And I don't know of any priors in violent outbursts with you, so I'll give you a two on that, just because I know you've had detentions."

"That's fair."

"So that would be a ... seventeen."

"Which would be worthy of two weeks of detention and a hundred-point reduction."

"Alright, then, that's what we'll do."

"Great," I said. _Crap, detention for two weeks. I should've just left well enough alone._

"But I guess for helping me out and being honest, I'll take off a week."

I smiled, "Thanks, Wood." _Maybe he's not so bad after all._

* * *

Later that night, I sat under the canopy of trees, the fire crackling in front of me and, past a few trees and in a valley that we'd all had dinner in, I could make out the night-whispers of teen lovers and their beaus. I knew deep inside that I should go and break up the couples, give them a detention and send them back to their tents.

But who am I, the girl who just got away with attacking another student and telling off a teacher and still managed to keep her title, to go and break up a couple caught in the midst of what might be true love?

Alright, so that was the most unlike-me thing I've ever said, but on a night like this, when the sky is clear and there are a billion stars and you can make out each and every one, you can't help but think that everything is just fine, and that true love can hit at any time, including when you're no more than seventeen.

In the lake, I heard a fish flop out of the water and splash back in. Moments later, Professor Wood fell half out of his tent, his hair mussed up from sleep and landing on the ground with a distinctive crash. He looked around for a second, obviously confused.

Finally his eyes landed on me, and he whispered in a voice, still mostly-asleep, "What was that?"

"A fish, Wood," I smiled, rolling my eyes. I was almost _charmed_ but the adorable expression of confusion on his face.

"Oh," Wood said, finally crawling out of the tent and sitting next to me, "So, what's keeping you up?"

"I'm supposed to be patrolling the woods," I explained as, right on cue, a distinctively girlish giggle rang through the trees.

"So shouldn't you go break that up," Wood questioned, smirking down at me.

I shrugged, sitting on my hands in an attempt to keep them warm, "Nah. They'll be fine, we learned contraceptive charms at the beginning of the year."

Wood shook his head at me, "How did you ever manage to become Head Girl?"  
"It was slim pickings, I think."

"Well, if you're not doing your job, why don't you just go to bed?" I pointed up at the stars and, wordlessly, Wood let his neck hang back, making his Adam's Apple look tight and painful in his throat, "Oh, wow."

"Yeah, it's beautiful," I replied.

"Reminds me of the view from the Quidditch Pitch," Wood said automatically, and I snorted in laughter at him.

"Do you ever think of anything besides Quidditch and flying?"

"Yes," Wood smiled.

"Like what," I teased.

Wood bit his lip thoughtfully, "My family, the war, lots of things." He glanced at me for a moment, his brown, shaggy hair falling in his eyes.

And in that brief moment, him looking at an awkward downward angle at me, the firelight flickering in his unnervingly dark brown eyes, I think I might have saw what Ginny was talking about.


	13. She's the Blade

Okay, this one might start with hate, but you'll love me at the end, I think. It's one of those cute chapters.

And yes, this chapter _is_ named after the Sugarcult song 'She's the Blade,' because it's pretty much Aly's theme song. Have you guys noticed all these chapters are named after song titles? I'm clever like that.

* * *

Clearing my throat and ignoring the suddenly tight feeling in my chest, akin to when I'm using a broom, I scooted forward and fell backward to lay my head on the log that Wood was still sitting on. A few seconds later, he joined me in the sand, moving imperceptibly closer to me in the process.

I bit my lip, ultimately hating the silence and the chance to analyze, "So, what's keeping you awake?"

Wood shook his head, "I was asleep until I heard the fish."

"So why can't you go to sleep now?"

Wood shrugged, picking at a tuft of grass shooting out of the sand on his other side and mumbling, "'s nothing."

_Oh come on, that's just an __**invitation**__ to be nosy._ "Come on, you can tell me."

"Just a bad dream," Wood responded, continuing to pick at the grass for a few minutes before giving up and laying his hands on his abs.

I nudged him with my elbow, surprising both of us with my sudden physical, bare-skin contact, "What about." There should've been a question mark there, but it wasn't a question.

Wood looked down at my elbow before taking a deep breath, "I'm not sure it would be a proper topi-"

"Wood," I cut him off, "Do you know how nosy you are about my life? Really, it's only fair that you tell me something that I can't find in a magazine interview."

Wood smirked, "You're really hung up on that whole star-aspect of my life."

"Actually, I'm hung up on this dream. Come on, you can tell me, strictly off record. I can even analyze it for you." Wait, let's back this up. "Or not."

Wood glanced up at me, raising an eyebrow, "I can analyze my own dreams, thank you. I took Divination, just like you did. "

"But I love analyzing dreams. I think it's really interesting. And it's just not very good teaching to deprive me of something educational that I love to do," I replied, quite aware of the sexual insinuations of what I was saying. But no one's awake to hear them, so what's the harm?

Wood sighed, "Fine. Only because of-" His face broke into a foretelling grin, "Of my duties to you as your teacher, under promise that you not repeat this to anyone."

I raised my two fingers, "Scout's honor."

Wood looked at me as if I'd suddenly grown a head, "What?"

"Nothing, just tell me."

"Well," Wood said, obviously still not comfortable with the whole idea as he scooted closer to me so he could whisper. I couldn't help but notice how our bare arms were pushed against each other as he started, "It starts out normally enough - I'm flying along over this beautiful forest when this pecky little falcon starts to attack me, and forces me to land. I try to get back on the broom every now and then, but the falcon just appears out of nowhere and starts to attack me. So instead I try to make my way on foot, and I come into the valley. And in the valley, I see..."

He trailed off, obviously having trouble how to word the next part. Wanting to comfort him, I reached out to take his hand, "Go on."

Wood stared at my hand for a few moments before he went on, "My friend. Only she's not my friend anymore, she's a fairy. And she keeps telling me that I need to get back on my broom and make peace with the falcon, and so I do. But the falcon just won't leave me alone, and then I faint, and then I wake up."

My thumb rubbed Wood's in the most comforting way I knew how , "Is that all? Anything else that sticks out?"

"Nope."

"Well," I said, biting my lip, "The flying could mean anything for you, because you're you-" Wood rolled his eyes, "But it typically means having an open mind. The falcon represents a strong-willed person, so it's possible that you feel like a particularly strong-willed person is trying to make you give up your open mind, or something else you love." Wood's hand tightened around mine, and I tried to continue as carefully as I could. It hadn't occurred to me before that I was entering dangerous territory by interpreting my teacher's dream, "When you see someone as a fairy, it means you need help concerning this person or from this person, probably something to do with the falcon. Fainting just shows that you have an inability dealing with the falcon, or person that the falcon represents."

Wood snorted, but I didn't get the feeling it was a laughing sort-of snort, "Well, alright then."

I reached my free hand up to my hair for a moment before sliding as close to him as I dared, my hand still tucked away in his, "Wood, do you need to talk?"

Wood snorted, this time mocking, "The dream meant nothing, Darling. I just let you do that for your own amusement. Remember? I only did it as your teacher." He stood up, brushing the sand off his pants and starting towards his tent.

"Oh," I replied sarcastically, standing to follow him, "But you give me social advice just for the hell of it? Or do I let you do that so you can have your fun as a teacher?"

"That," Wood turned on me, trying to decide what to say, "That's just different, alright?"

"How? God, remind me to just always hate you, cause the moment I give a damn at all, you just turn into a royal asshole."

"Watch your mouth," Wood said, starting to walk away before turning back and questioning, slightly livid, "Who says you need to give a damn about me and all? I'm the teacher, I should be the one worrying about you."

"Cause you're obviously the picture-perfect stable-man. Can you sustain any real relationship that isn't with a ball and a broom?" Oh, where are my friends to make a joke out of that? Cause it'd be just wrong for me to make a gay-joke in the middle of this argument, but it definitely needs to be made.  
"That doesn't affect anything, Darling. All that matters is you need to keep your abnormally small nose out of my business. It isn't appropriate."

Wood was in his already in his tent by the time I could swallow my anger enough to hiss a response, "Well, then you can just keep your abnormally small-in-number social experiences to yourself next time I'm in a fight with my friend!" God, he's infuriating. That wasn't even a decent come-back. I'm off my game, again. It's all his fault.

* * *

-Switch to Oliver-

* * *

I sighed as I sat in my tent, listening as the birds twitted and chirped around me, reminding me of the loud-mouthed girls that Darling called her friends. Not that Darling wasn't loud, she obviously was just as loud as them, but she wasn't screaming about nature and no homework all through the hike. Honestly, I'm not sure how Hogwarts hasn't exploded from those girls just being there.

But of course, I can't think of Darling's friends without thinking of Darling, and when I think of Darling everything goes wrong. I'm not at Hogwarts for romance, or even for pleasure in general. I'm here for my duty to my father. Darling shouldn't even be a blip on my radar. She isn't. She's just a student, no more important than any of the first years.

_Psh,_ I firmly spat at myself, immediately followed by a bombardment of images that I'd care not to remember. Like how I saw her at Diagon Alley the month before school had started, while I was broom shopping, and my first thought was that she was familiar, followed by the realization that, even with chocolate-stained lips and teeth, her smile was nothing short of addictive.

Yes, apparently Oliver Wood is a poet in addition to the ex-most promising Quidditch player since Zaney Zabini, the disgusting ancestor of the rather untalented Blaise Zabini. I smirked to myself, remembering the note in Miss Phillips file that she had taken a swing at Zabini after 'mitigating circumstances.'

But then, of course, Miss Phillips led me to think about her brother, which in turn reminded me of the night I'd tried to help Darling out, and then had to talk Wiggins out of giving her a detention. Now that was a dangerous situation. It's one thing to let the students talk; hell, it's fun to hear what they come up with. But when Wiggins talks, I get to explain to my old Head of House that no, I'm not involved sexually with the Head Girl.

Oh, I don't want to follow the path that will take me. At least when I think of her all chocolate-covered, it's cute.

_Wait, no, bad thought!_

"Professor Wood," A slight-looking Hufflepuff by the name of Melissa Radeau leaned in, her hair tied back with a carefully-crafted bow, "Are you awake?"

"What do you need?"

"I was wondering if Prince and I could go for an early-morning swim."

"Yeah, sure, don't get hurt."

I stood up, looking around the tent. Really, I don't know why these kids wanted to go camping - with these tents, we mine as well be at Hogwarts. What with the fireplace and the comfortable bed. Really, there's no point.

And in case anyone cares, I can turn that into a thought about Darling, but I won't. Because I don't know that her tent is four down from mine, or that she's sharing it with that girl they call Siren, and so I can never remember her real name. And even if I did, Darling is not a blip on my radar. She's blip-less. Sans blip.

Pulling on a shirt and walking passed the divider to my personal student-hosting hall, I pushed the image of Darling shifting there yesterday, teaching me about punishment, instead making my way out of the tent. I caught sight of the foretelling blonde hair sitting alone on the beach, pages spread around her carelessly.

"Darling," I barked at her, mentally berating myself for being so masochistic and putting myself through the endless torture of her presence. "Come and get more firewood with me so I can make breakfast."

She glanced over her shoulder, glaring at me dangerously, "The Head-Boy extraordinaire already got it."

"Well... make me coffee." _Oh, that's the worst idea I've ever had..._

"Ex**cuse** me?!" She got ready to stand and fight me for her rights, but instead I decided to back down. _I swear, I don't think I've ever backed down before._ Alright, that was a lie, but it always bothers me when I do back down.

"Nothing, nothing," I replied quickly, reaching into the cooler that was kept next to my tent's entrance and pulling out a package of breakfast meats.

The next few minutes were awkward. The only people awake were Darling, the two girls splashing obnoxiously in the lake, and me. All I could do was sit by the fire, hovering a large skillet over it and cooking the food.

Eventually, the smell of sausage pulled people from their beds, but this was of course the moment that Darling stood, sitting a respectable distance away. She leaned in, whispering, "I'm sorry I invaded your privacy last night, or whatever."

I nodded, glancing over my shoulder and trying to look like I wasn't having this conversation. She apparently doesn't like being seen with me, "I won't butt into your life anymore. I don't know whatever came over me."

"Don't worry, Wood, you're naturally stupid," she responded cheekily, before standing and swaying away.

And really, that's what it looked like she was doing. Swaying gently with ever step she took, as if she were flying. Really, most of her movements she does as if she's light as a feather, floating on air. I don't get why she's so scared of flying.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, "Professor Wood? The sausage is burning."

I cursed as I saw the black smoke billowing out of the pan in giant puffs, like some oversized pipe. Using my wand to throw the pan into the lake, I was rewarded with only a loud belch of laughter from Darling and the screams of two girls as the sausage started to float towards their maddened splashing.

"Calm down, calm down, it's just sausage," I yelled as I hurried towards the lake.

"SNAKE! IT'S A SNAKE," one of them screeched, leaving Prince, who may or may not have been the screamer, to jump into the arms of a near-tears Radeau.

"It isn't a snake," I tried to yell over them desperately, wading into the water to try and calm them.

Moments later, a loud boom sounded behind me, shocking the squealing girls into silence, "It's not a snake, guys!"

The two girls looked at their Head Girl in utter amazement, their jaws dropping a little as Darling turned casually, gathering her papers and muttering about how she'll never get her work done.

Smiling nervously, I grabbed the frying pan and left the meat to float aimlessly in the water, "I tried to tell you."

"God, she's been pissy lately," one of the girls muttered, and I glanced back at them, already halfway back to the shore.

_Now, what was it that Darling said? Rules broken: erm, harassment, endangering the safe learning environment, yeah, I can say that. Priors? Well, they have a prior in being loud and annoying, so two more. And how it reflects on the school, a ten. That's a total of fourteen, right? And then you __**have**__ to round up, I'm sure..._

"Twenty points from Hufflepuff for gossiping," I responded, smirking to myself. _That was very justified. Very, very, very justified. I used the system._


	14. Dream a Little Dream of Me

I sighed as I sat in Wood's office, wondering how long he planned on keeping me here. He's having me help him write the schedule for the Quidditch season, and apparently nothing is right with it.

Because, well, you can't have the same team playing twice in a month, because the captains need time to practice all the things that went wrong in the last game, and you can't have a match two weeks in a row, because then they aren't so exciting.

And, in case any of you were wondering, I just don't really care about this. "How about we put the Hufflepuff Slytherin game on the twentieth of February?"

"No, no, you can't have a game on Fridays! Captains need time to prepare before the game, mentally," Wood insisted, physically shooing the idea out of his head with his hand.

_I might kill him._ "Then make it the twenty-first."

"No, no, that interferes with the Slytherin match versus Ravenclaw in March."

"Well, move that one, then."

"We can't, it's the only time the Ravenclaw team can play." Really, is putting together this schedule that hard? I mean, it's... what, five-ish games? Plus two or three for the Cup. This schedule should not be this intense.

"Why is that?"

"Their captain has a wedding; she's requested to return home that next weekend, and after that we have to schedule the teams for the Cup matches."

"Of course," I responded, rolling my eyes.

Wood smirked, "Feeling properly punished, Darling?"

"Shut up," I responded, "Move the Ravenclaw Slytherin game to just after Christmas break, that first weekend back."

Wood shrugged as he flicked his wand, the piece of paper floating up towards the new date and pinning itself in. "I guess that works."

"Of course it works, now can I please leave?" I started to stand, praying that I could be out the door before he said no.

"Not until the schedule is finished," Wood responded.

I groaned, "Wood, there are two games left."

"Yes, the most important ones - Slytherin versus Gryffindor and Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff!"

"Those aren't that important," I responded, falling back into my seat.

Wood's jaw dropped, "Have you ever been to a Quidditch match in your life?"

I scoffed, _"Yes._ How else would I know I hate the sport?"

Wood pursed his lips at me, "Just concentrate, Darling. You're a Ravenclaw, you should be great at puzzles."

I let my jaw unhinge, "That is **so** prejudice!"

"How is that prejudice?"  
"Just because I'm a Ravenclaw I'm good at putting together puzzles?" If I play this right, I could get out of here!

"Well, you're supposed to be smart, so why not good at puzzles?"  
"Good at puzzles and having some form of intelligence is very di-"

I would've broke into a long, angry rant about Wood's assumptions and how false they were, but I was cut off with a loud bang. My neck snapped as I turned to look out the window, green sparks showering down from the sky.

I hurried to the window, Wood following me and pressing himself against my back almost uncomfortably as he leaned his neck out to see what had made the sound. We gasped simultaneously at the shape the sparks had taken - the Dark Mark.

Almost immediately, Wood flinched, hissing and whispering to me, "Darling, get to your room and lock the door."

I turned, my brow furrowing as Wood fell away from me, turning towards the fireplace, "Wood, are you al-"

"Get out of here, Darling. McGonagall will want to talk to you," Wood said, only barely turning to talk to me.

"Are you hurt?"

"Go," Wood barked, and I nodded.

"Alright, Wood."

I hurried from the room, glad that he and I were in his castle office, as opposed to his one at the Quidditch Pitch. I only had to turn and run up some steps to get to my dorm, where I found an owl already waiting for me from McGonagall.

I picked up it's note, stroking it on the head carefully before sitting on my bed and opening the letter.

_Miss Darling,_

_Please report to my office immediately._

_McGonagall_

The handwriting, while normally carefully and elegantly curved, was quickly scribbled and nearly illegible. She had five other letters to write, as quickly as possible, and I could only dully note that it made sense as I emerged from my dorm, my timing exactly matching Tom's.

We glanced at each other as we met in our Common Room, but we just kept on towards McGonagall's office, the gargoyle already moved aside as we caught sight of Flitwick hurrying up the stairs. By the time Tom and I were there, so were two of the four Heads of Houses - mine and Hagrid.

I sighed in relief at seeing my Head of House, kneeling next to him, "Professor Flitwick, what's going on?"

Flitwick looked very shocked at the entire situation, "I don't know, Darling. I just don't know."

I gulped - Professor Flitwick was one of the few teachers I had complete faith in. He and I had always just gotten along. He thought I was funny, and I thought he was, if nothing else, one of the most respectable teachers at Hogwarts. It resulted in a surprisingly comfortable, strong bond between the two of us.

Wiggins arrived quickly, followed by Sprout. Last to arrive was McGonagall, who emerged from the door at the back of her office, "Good evening. I trust you all saw our little reminder of the war outside?"

Everyone else wordlessly nodded, but Flitwick flittered to her side, "What was it, Minerva?"

McGonagall looked down at her Deputy Headmaster, "Besides the Dark Mark, Fillius? I don't know."

"Was one of the students hurt," Tom questioned, standing dutifully next to Wiggins.

"We don't know yet, Mr. Worthington," McGonagall responded quickly, obviously in short tempers. "I want all Head of Houses to return to their Common Rooms and take roll. Worthington, Darling, go patrol the halls, and if you see any Death Eaters, you are not to confront them; you are to escape and report to me. Is that clear?"

Everyone nodded, leaving to hurry towards their respective posts. I thought about asking if we should go outside, but thought better of it. Besides, I should probably be concentrating on keeping my eyes open for Death Eaters.

"I'll take the dungeons and the first four floors; you take from floor six and up," Tom instructed, and I nodded. Now wasn't the time for fighting.

As Tom and I arrived at the staircase, where many students were standing around, looking scared, we counted to three silently before shouting, "ALL STUDENTS TO YOUR COMMON ROOMS!"

"Good luck," Tom added before taking the first staircase down he could find that wasn't moving. He hated moving staircases.

"Yeah," I responded, obviously nowhere nearly as worried about him as he was about me, continuing to instruct students toward their Common Rooms.

* * *

-Switch to Oliver's POV-

* * *

I groaned as Darling slammed the door, falling to my knees in front of the burning fireplace. "Damn it, why does he make it hurt so much? I'm doing my job, aren't I?!"

"Of course you are, Wood," A voice taunted from my fireplace, and I bit my tongue to hold in the scream. I'm sure it doesn't hurt anyone else this much. The burning, the stinging, was it all necessary?

"Now, Wood, I wish to inquire about how your little mission is going," The face in the fireplace sneered at me.

"It's going fine; I'm working on it."

"Do you have any information for me?"

My face fell, and I took to staring intently at the ground, "No, I don't, my-" I grit my teeth, the word tasting bitter, "My Lord."

"Tsk, tsk, Wood, you should know better. Charm the room, Wood."

I didn't have to ask to know what the Dark Lord meant - this had happened when I first denied the mission. It was meant to be humiliating - accepting the punishment. In addition to torture, the Dark Lord had to remind me that he was the dominant one in the relationship - I was his little bitch.

Grabbing my wand from my desk, I saw that Darling's was resting next to it. _That might be dangerous._ "My Lord, are you planning a surprise attack on Hogwarts?"

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named chuckled, "If I was; I would've told you, wouldn't I? You'll pay for that question, Wood. You know better than to ask me questions."

I sighed as I locked and silenced the room, kneeling back before the fireplace. At least I knew Darling wouldn't be caught unaware.

"Crucio!"

* * *

I groaned as I dragged my feet through the corridors, wanting nothing other than to go and collapse into bed. It was nearly two in the morning, and Tom and I had been running all over the castle, searching for one very stupid student who decided that instead of returning to their Common Room like they should, they would cower in fear in the kitchens.

Because we all know that House Elves are just the thing to scare off an army of Death Eaters, most of whom have their own personal House Elf army.

The Dark Mark proved to be nothing other than an establishment that there is at least one Death Eater, or Death-Eater wanna-be, at Hogwarts. All the students are alive and well, in addition to all the chickens, slugs, and every other creature that can't defend itself. We didn't find any student whose wand had cast the Dark Mark, but I don't think McGonagall could bring herself to search the teachers' wands.

But instead of going to bed, I have to sneak down to Wood's office and steal my wand back before school tomorrow. Admittedly, I have until lunch tomorrow before I have any classes, the result of a very generous McGonagall, but still, I don't think I'll be able to sleep without my wand.

I bit my lip as I turned the door knob carefully, finding it was locked. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to remember everything Flitwick was teaching us about wandless spells. I gripped my hand, trying to pretend that I had my wand to control my magic.

"Alohomora," I whispered, smiling with pride as I heard the lock click open. _If I could, I would give myself twenty points right now._

Carefully opening the door, I leaned in to look around. The fire was out, so it was hard to see anything, but I could just make out the form of the furniture. _Guess he went back to his room,_ I decided, slipping and searching blindly around the desk in hopes of finding my wand.

I gasped as I knocked over a jar of something, "Shit." But what was worse was when I heard the pained moan of one Oliver Wood.

I turned, my eyes wide to find him in a lump in front of the doused fireplace. _He sleeps on the stone floor in his office?_ But then he groaned, turning over gripping his stomach. Panicked at being caught, I finally closed my fingers around my wand and whispered a little too loudly, "Occieo"

I reached a hand up to tug at my hair as I looked down, hoping I'd gotten my pronunciation right. But I sighed in relief as I saw nothing. Occieo was a dangerous charm; like a concealment charm, only more intense, and used to make invisibility cloaks work. I'd learned it in Transfiguration earlier in the week, along with its dangers. If I hadn't done it right, I could've somehow accidently made myself magnetic.

But I'm invisible and things aren't flying toward me, so I count this as a job well done.

Wood groaned his he looked down towards his feet before letting his head hit the stone floor painfully. _Slow and steady, Aly; maybe he'll think its Peeves opening the door. Just don't make a sound... no matter how un-Peeves-like that is, just don't make a sound._

I gasped as I felt my heel come into loud-contact with the door, banging against it. Wood looked up, and I froze as he eyes somehow caught mine. _Impossible; I'm invisible._ "Darling?"

My hands immediately found their way into my hair, _Guess not._ "I just really needed my wand, Wood. I'm sorry for disrupting you, I'll just be-"

I turned to open the door, still trying to figure out what part of me was visible, when Wood pushed the door I was halfway through opening closed, his body close enough for me to feel his heat.

"Darling, stay." My heart skipped a few beats as I turned to look up at him.

"What?" Something told me, though, that I shouldn't be doing this; I should push his arm away, walk out the door, and try to remember how to reverse this damn curse. I really didn't want to know what he meant.

"Stay," Wood said, his hand reaching out and finding my cheek.

His thumb carefully searched for my lips, and I had half a mind to bite the appendage before he replaced his gentle thumb with his rough lips.

* * *

I gasped myself awake, my body tensing before realizing it was all a dream. A very, very icky dream, that makes me want to puke a little. Reassuringly, I reached towards my bedside table, where my wand was resting. I'd gone, I'd gotten it from Wood's office, I'd escaped, and I was now visible.

There had been no kissing, a fact I'm suddenly very grateful for. It wasn't even something I paid attention to before, and I know if I start paying attention to it everything will get worse. _Cause then I'll be nervous, and that just isn't cool._

_Wait, hold on, I care if Wood thinks I'm cool?_

_Oh my God, am I __**WOODIE?!**_


	15. Breathing

Alright, so if you've read my other fanfiction, you'll know that I've decided to do little fun facts with every few chapters, about the idea, characters, inspiration, or whatever. Why? Cause I'm bored, and they sound fun.

**Fun fact:** Originally, Darling and Wood were supposed to kiss while they fought at the camping site. This was one of the first scenes written for this story, and most of it was thrown out or rewritten, the kiss being something that was thrown out.

* * *

"Breathe, Darling, breathe," Wood instructed, his arms wrapped tightly around me to keep me from falling off the broom.

"Land, Wood, land," I chocked sarcastically back at him, one hand digging into Wood's arm and the other clawing at my throat. I swear, he stole my hair band and shoved it over my head and around my throat. Just for his sadistic little jollies.

"No, Darling, I swear, I will get you through this. You were fine all lesson by yourself," Wood said, obviously distressed.

"Wood, **get me on the fucking ground!"**

"No," Wood insisted, "I've got you. Just don't look down."

"It's not the height, just GET ME ON THE GROUND!"

"Breathe!"

I attempted, for my life's sake, to take a deep breath, or even a tiny little gasp, but I just couldn't. I don't know how this started again - Wood was just hot.

I mean, err, he took off his robe, because he was hot.

God why isn't my mind working!?

Wood got sweaty, wait, no, ew, hold on, he was overheating and took off his robe. THERE! IT'S OUT! Just get out of my head!

"Darling, concentrate on getting air into your lungs. Close your eyes, open your eyes, imagine someone naked for all I care! But breathe!"  
I gasped, "SHUT UP WOOD AND **LAND!"**

"No, I told you-"

"Damn it, Oliver," I screamed, too desperate to care what I called him.

And that was when the world fell down. Well, not the world, but Wood and I. The broom was going crazy, flinging itself every which way, showcasing Wood's astonishing lack of control. I opened my mouth in a loud scream as Wood gripped desperately at the broom, puling and pushing it in an attempt to regain a steady pace.

I swear we were going to die, even after Wood pulled the broom out of it's determined nose dive to let us land gently on the ground. "Damn it," he muttered, letting the broom fall to the ground and using his now free hand to run through his hair.

I turned on him, too angry to care that he seemed sorry, "Damn it?! DAMN IT?! No, no, damn it is something you say when you stub your toe! You just nearly got me KILLED!" Obviously, I've got no problem breathing now. "Wood, next time I tell you to land, **LAND!** That was the single most horrifying experience of my life! I've got a mind to clock you - I mean, what the hell were you _doing_ up there?!"

"I was distracted, Darling," Wood said. He looked nothing short of pissed and, now that I thought about it, he probably wasn't pissed at _just_ me. I mean, the point of our riding together was so I'd get comfortable on the broom. If I were him, I'd hate myself a little.

_Maybe I should go easier on him. He didn't mean to lose control of the broom._ Ew, no, that's just wrong.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to start yelling at him, and instead turned on my heel, "I'm going."

"Darling," Wood attempted lamely, "I don't know what happened up there. You know I'm..." I froze, _Don't say it, don't say it._ "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, whatever," I responded, feeling a strange pressure at the top of my stomach, just under where my sports bra was cutting into my skin. It was a strangely sick feeling, and I desperately wanted to barf it out.

But that would just be awkward, to puke in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch. Who would have to clean that up? Filch, or Wood? Hold on, I don't care, I'm just high-tailing it out of here.

Of course, by the time I got outside the Pitch, sans Wood, my friends were all but rolling down the hill to meet me and head off on a special little trip to the Room of Requirement, a monthly tradition since fourth year so we could get together, have a good home cooked meal, and gossip like the secret girly-girls we were.

"Aly, Aly, Aly, ALY, guess what I just heard?"

I sighed as Siren gripped my arm, smirking up at her, "That... you're parents tried to give you back to the adoption center?"

"That was cruel. No, no, rumors are going around about Radeau being in Wood's tent during the camping trip. You're off the hook!"

The girls around me dissolved into giggles, but I honestly didn't know how to react. Not that I liked the rumors, but still, something definitely seemed wrong with me being _replaced._ And by Radeau, no less. She's the kind of girl who not only tries to not grow up, but tries to get away with being a four year old.

I mean, not growing up is fine; stay young, have fun, but this girl doesn't even want to be a teenager, much less have sex. She wears... jumpers with matching bows and ribbons and frills and she calls herself a princess. It's not a very sensible replacement, is all I'm saying. I doubt she even bothered showing up to our lesson on contraceptive charms. Cause boys have cooties, don't ya know?

"What are you lot doing out here," Wood questioned, and I turned to see him, holding the demonic piece of wood called a broom, which had split down the middle and was only just barely together, "You should be up getting dinner."

"Well, Wood, when you have friends one day, maybe they'll come pick you up from your lesson at the Quidditch Pitch."

Wood sighed, "Look, Darling, I-"

_Not in front of my friends, you don't. Not after I __just__ got over the rumors._ "You're socially deranged," I cut him off, "I know. I pity you, deep down. Or maybe I don't, who cares? See ya next week."

Wood stood there, slightly slack-jawed at my reply. Before he had a chance to open his big ol' mouth again and sexually reiterate his apology, I turned and led my friends up the hill, which by the way gets steeper every time I have to walk up it. Distantly, through the loud ramblings of my friends, which I could only bring myself to nod along to, I heard Wood close the door to the Pitch and lock it.

Turning over my shoulder, I just caught a glimpse of Wood before he straddled the broken broom and took off towards the castle, spearing ahead of us silently. I gulped, strategically blocking my dream from my mind as Penny wrapped an arm around my shoulder, singing about how good it is to be a free woman.

* * *

"Well, you guys will never guess what I heard going around about Penny."

Penny bit her lip from the kitchenette in what I liked to call our apartment. A living room, a bathroom, and a full stocked kitchenette felt as much like home as my room did, "Me and... Meyers."

"No, no, he oogles too much at Weasley for people to talk about you two. I heard you and Phillips, though."

Susan's jaw dropped at Willow's news, "Me, or my brother?"

"Both," Willow responded, laughing into her drink and snorting a little, "I told everyone that she wasn't dating your brother, but I couldn't bring myself to squash the little Third Year's dreams about you two going out."

"Ew, you're using me to comfort _Third_ years," Susan cried, throwing the pillow she had been clutching to her chest.

I snorted, "At least your rumors are for comfort. Mine were strictly for the amusement of NO ONE."

Everyone laughed as Penny started to set the table, "Oh, no, those were for the amusement of _everyone."_

"Sick freaks," I muttered, watching from the couch as Penny set the table. We'd help, but Penny is very particular about the way she sets the table, and it's easier to just leave her on her own.

"Those freaks had at least fourteen different ways of you and Wood getting together, though," Siren pointed out, giggling.

"I just don't understand _how_ these rumors even came about."

"Well, I heard one group of girls claim you were both telepathic and you talked that way all through the speech at the beginning of school," Susan offered.

"My personal favorite was you fell out of a wall into his arms, naked, and he was entranced."

"Naked," I screeched, "Who the hell walks around Hogwarts naked?"

"Peeves did once," Willow commented, tapping her chin, "It wasn't pleasant."

"But you weren't always naked. A lot of the time it was just you're a slut and he was fooled by you. In the end, though, you almost always looked like a fool, or a horrible person," Susan informed me, also tapping her chin.

"Great, fabulous," I muttered, rolling my eyes as I stood.

Penny's stew was smelling particularly delicious, and suddenly this conversation just got very uncomfortable, mostly because I can pinpoint moments in my memory as to how to rumors stated. Now that'sdisconcerting.

"But, anyway, Suze, Pen, if anyone comes to you with this information," Willow commented, "And says I told them they were right, call them liars and run away."

"Great, thanks, I'm taking your stew," Susan replied, grabbing Willows spoon from her mouth and spilling it across the wooden table.

"Suze," Willow complained.  
"Next time, tell them the correct orientation!"

* * *

I sighed as I sat on the couch, watching the muggle movie playing in front of me. Muggle movies weren't particularly my favorite, but the other girls love them and I get popcorn out of the deal, so I think it's worth it.

Except for right now, because everyone else is asleep and the main character looks alarmingly like Wood and the other girl is blonde and I'm pretty going to get together but until then he keeps freezing time and drawing naked women, at which point Siren throws herself over the TV.

Random words from the movie keep throwing themselves through my head, like horribly mismatched newspaper headlines poking at my cerebral cord, or whatever. The most popular one is, _"Crush. It's funny how the same word for the feeling of disappointment can be used for the feeling of attraction. The Oxford English Dictionary states one of the meanings for the word crushed as "a strong and unreasoning, but transitory attachment."_

I'm not even sure what transitory means!!

I really am the worst Ravenclaw ever, which yes apparently equals Head Girl.

Siren groaned as she attempted to roll onto her back next to me, only to find me in the way. She opened an eye at me, glaring it, "What are you doing in my bedroom?"

"Watching the movie you picked out," I whispered teasingly back at her.

She yawned, "I thought you might like watching a man who looks like your ex-lover become obsessed with stopping time and being an insomniac. The naked women are really just a plus for the whole lesbian episode today before dinner."

I rolled my eyes, "You really are a mean person, Cyrene Lydia Otis."

"Ew, you're disgusting," Siren complained at her full name, which somehow in my mind turned to Wood.

Alright, my mind's been turned to him most of the movie, but more intensely now. I don't know why I would think of him, though. He's not all _that_ disgusting. I mean, yes he is, he's got no brain, or manners. But still, he can be kind of... alright. When we're on the ground and I'm breathing. And especially when there's a romantic fire, and all.

_Ugh, I'm starting to sound like Ginny,_ I decided, wrinkling my nose. Siren poked me, "Hey, you alright? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I lied easily. I turned to her, then, deciding to lose myself completely in unnecessary prodding, "So, how's that boy I heard about at the beginning of the year?"

Siren blushed, or at least she should've been, "He's alright."

"Just alright," I questioned, shoving my elbow into her side lightly.

Siren giggled, "I think he's going to ask me out soon."

I groaned, "He still hasn't? He's had two months - do it yourself."

Siren scoffed, "Not everyone is you - I like to be pursued and wanted, instead of threatening the boy into the relationship."

"I like to be pursued," I laughed at Siren's insults.

She laughed openly at the statement, "You told Tom to either ask you out or go drown himself for teasing you!"

"Tom was a tease," I defended, giggling, "He needed to do one or the other!"

"Well, my guy is a tease, too," Siren finished, still laughing but slowly regaining composure.

"That just means-"

I was cut off by a pillow being thrown in my face, "You two laughing is like an entire pack of hyenas in my head!" Willow moaned, "Shut uuuup."

"That just means," I continued, returning to my original whispering volume, "That you need to give him the ultimatum of drowning with the Squid or dating you."

"Oh, cause that's just what I want to be compared to," She replied sarcastically, "The Squid."

"The Squid is sexy if you ignore the part where it's a squid," I responded defensively, trying desperately to not burst out laughing.

"Yeah, right, you'd better not say that in public. Suddenly there are Darling/Squid rumors flying every which way."

I rolled my eyes, turning back to the movie for it's closing scene. Hold on, did the blonde and Wood get together? I'm very torn about my feelings about that, despite the fact I'm not sure it happened. I might just steal this movie from Siren and call it a day. If only I had a TV in my room...

For a second, my mind flashed to an image of knocking on Wood's door to his room, despite the fact that I've got no idea where it is, and asking him if he wanted to watch a movie. And I was blushing, like it was a date, or something.

_Ew, I'm gross._


	16. Memory

_"This may never start, we could fall apart  
And I'd be your memory  
Lost your sense of fear, feelings insincere  
Can I be your memory?_

I love it.  
Listen to Memory by Sugarcult as you read this, preferably the acoustic version.  
And then go check out the banner I made especially for this chapter. The link will be in my homepage, because I have enough experience with trying to deal with this editor and links.

Oh, and the last part was inspired by a scene from Smallville. Want to see it? On youtube, search 'Top 50 Clana Moments Part 8.' It's number one, and starts at 4:10.  
:)

* * *

I sighed dramatically as I pushed the Entrance Hall door open into a chilly wind and early setting sun. Life had not become any less complicated in the past week - Penny and Susan had gotten into one of their blown-out-of-proportion fights, Willow was having a major case of PMS, and all Siren could talk about was her anonymous almost-boyfriend, whom she refuses to give an ultimatum.

"Darling," Scottish-boy-extraordinaire called from behind me, rushing up and smiling downwards as his eyes collided with mine, "I was hoping I'd catch you on your way down. I want to talk to you."

I gulped - in addition to a horrible social week, it'd been a horrible sleeping week. Four times I'd dreamt of him - **four times!** And worst, it wasn't always a mindless snogging dream I could play off to a hormonal outburst.

No - sometimes they were just sweet relationship dreams. Like last night, an evil hag turned me into a dragon that everyone wanted dead and Wood was the only one to believe I had once been human and was willing to help and protect me. It was like Beauty and the Beast went horribly wrong.

_And now he's found out about the completely meaningless dreams and is going to have a talk with me about how inappropriate they are,_ I figured glumly. But I'm only glum because the Wood/Darling rumors will start up again, somehow. Those are just tiring.

"I think you're ready to take your test," Wood confessed, taking a quarter of the walk to finally spit it out.

My jaw fell open, both from the shock of the news and how different what I'd imagined and reality, "What?"

"Well, really, you've become very adequate, almost talented, at broom control, when I'm not there."

"Huh," I stuttered, something clicking in the back of my mind.

Wood broke into a long-winded discussion of my 'bloody brilliant' technique, but I ignored him completely; wrapped up in my Ravenclaw-esque world of discovery. _The symptoms - they only happen when Wood is on the broom with me! I'm over my fear of brooms - I'm just physically repulsed by Wood! My problems are solved!_

"So I'll give you the test tonight, and I'm expecting you to pass. It wasn't that hard - you could've passed it ages ago, I'm sure."

I smirked up at Wood, suddenly in a great mood, "Then why didn't you give it to me before?"

Wood smiled back down at me, and I recognized a mischievous glint in his eye, "I need something to do on a Saturday night, don't I?"

"Because you couldn't **possibly** get a date; not with that ugly thing you call a face."

"Then again, who needs a date when I've got your angry and hateful comments to tide me through to my next fan girl? Blind hatred should always conquer true love." Wood teased, flicking his wand expertly as we stood in the middle of the Quidditch field.

"It's not blind hatred, it's a staggeringly clear disliking," I clarified as Wood handed me the broom he'd summoned.

Wood didn't reply, leaving me to start to tug at my hair as he created a series of rings. Supposedly, I'm going to fly through those rings in some inane order. My stomach squelched - what if I'm not ready? What if Wood is setting me up for failures so he can laugh at me and hold me back for ten more years for more convenient torturing? Oh God, oh God, oh my Merlin's God, p-

I felt a rough hand tangle itself into my hair and still my hand before pulling it down to my side, "Darling, you'll do absolutely fine. I wouldn't let you try this otherwise. You'll pass, I know you will."

A glance into Wood's brown, mischievous-lacking eyes made my stomach plummet and left a distinct pushing against my chest. _It's just repulsion, Aly. Keep breathing, and you'll pull through this. In, out, in, out._

Slowly, Wood tore his stare away and my organs returned to their normal functions. See? Physical repulsion. No funny business going on here. It's all very serious - I'm going to pass my test and graduate. My future is riding on this. _Heh, and I'm riding a broom. I smell irony and metaphors._

"Alright, to pass the test you just need to fly through ten of the rings."

I waited for a minute, waiting for the rest of the directions, "That's it?"  
"I said you'd be able to pass it. It wasn't a particularly hard - you're the only one that failed it."

I shook my head in amazement, "You really don't know when to shut up, do you?"

Wood shook his head, smiling down at me, "You'll do fine, Darling. Are you nervous?"

My hand slowly found it's way back into my hair, "No."

"Do you need a hug?"

**"No."**

"I think I'm going to hug you," Wood replied.

I sneered up at him, "You're disgusting. Do you even know how to hug?"

"Of course I know how to hug."

"Yeah, well, don't demonstrate, I might throw up," I replied, actually a little serious. Physical repulsion, remember?

"Ouch. Just let me go take a seat at the edge of the field and then you can start," Wood replied, not outwardly concerned with my insults.

I sighed all of five seconds later, swinging my leg over the broom, "I'm going now, Wood!"

"I'm not ready, Darling," Wood called back, using my same tone.

"I'm getting bored, Wood."

"I'm conjuring up my chair, Darling."

"Wood, I'm rising into the air," I called, pushing hard off the ground to float precariously in the air.

"If you fly through the first ring before I say go, I'm allowed to fail you!"

"And then I'm allowed to fly this broom up your-"

"Just start," Wood cut me off, obviously laughing.

I smiled from my perch in the air, ignoring the physical repulsion that I could feel starting. I threw myself into the first turn, hoping to somehow throw off the nausea that accompanied my nervousness.

_One ring down, nine to go,_ I thought, looking around for an easy ring. There were fifteen or so spread around the ring, at various heights and angles. No two were the same, and I guess Wood made sure of that. Cause he's the devil, and all.

_Well,_ I pondered, wishing I could risk bringing my hand off the broom to tug at my hair; no, this was to risky to steer one handed, _I'm not all that sure he's the devil. I mean, except for the dreams, he isn't even that bothersome anymore. Our bantering is kind of… fun._

I choked a little as I flew through the third ring, the second already well behind me. The ring disappeared in a poof of smoke, leading to a further, very non-intensive coughing fit. Wood's panicked scream followed seconds later, "Are you alright, Darling?!"

"I'm fine," I coughed as the smoke around me vanished, vacuumed away into Wood's wand.

"Look, look, you just have seven more. Do you want me to fly next to you?"

I took my first deep breath of clean air, straightening on the broom, "I'm fine, Wood." I looked down, meaning to glare at him, but he just looked so… worried. And instead, completely unintentional words spilled from my mouth, "Thanks, though."

Wood paused, obviously shocked at the words I instantly regretted. They triggered random pieces of my physical repulsion, including the pressure between my ribs. Pieces of random movie and television love scenes flashed before my eyes, mainly ones from the movie I watched with the girls just a week ago.

_"Love is there if you want it to be. You just have to see that it's wrapped in beauty and hidden away in between the seconds of your life. If you don't stop for a minute, you might miss it."_

I shook the quote from my head as I concentrated on rising to make it to the fourth ring in time, at the perfect angle. I'm not missing anything with Wood, much less… the 'l' word.

Alright, so I've got some problems with the word love, that's not what this is about!

Another deep breath and I was through rings five, six, and seven. My mind was buzzing, mostly with that quote, but none of that is important. What's important is I just got through ring eight and am heading towards nine and ten, which are the only two on the same height. I just have to dive shallowly and pull back up and I'm home free.

And before I could blink, I'd done it. I'd gone through ten rings. Excitedly, I whooped, followed by a shout from Wood! _Wood!_ I was bordering delirious as I dove for the ground, hitting it running for Wood. He was running straight back at me, and if I didn't know better I'd think we were running at each other so that we could get into another fist fight, like second year.

But as I 'collided' with Wood, he wrapped his arms around my waist, picking me up as I pumped one fist for joy, tucking the other around his neck… for security. Oliver and I continued to yell and scream as my hand finally fall.

And when it fell, I kind of couldn't help but notice how it slid down Oliver's hair, and how his breath hitched slightly and his body tightened at the touch. I gasped as his arm tightened, along with the rest of his body, and the screams of joy died very quickly in our throats as Wood and I realized just what we were doing.

Flexing my foot quickly, I found that I was not within touching distant of the ground. Judging on how much taller I am than Wood all of the sudden, I'm probably around a foot off the ground, held up only by Wood's tight arms and his chest.

The physical repulsion, which I'm starting to suspect isn't actually repulsion, started to take over, and I was scared that I was going to faint from the way my chest was caving in. Oliver just kind of gaped for a second or two, like a fish out of water.

_Hold on, Oliver? Since when do I call him Ol-_

I didn't get the chance to finish my thought, though. Oliver's two seconds of gaping were up, and he suddenly thought of something much more fun to do with his lips. He pressed them against mine in a hurried, rough frenzy of movement.

Someone else might call it a kiss.

But no, it wasn't a kiss. And even if it were, I only responded for a second or two. Because I lost my head - I called him Oliver. I didn't think he was Wood, I thought he was a kid named Oliver. And that's the kid I kissed back, momentarily spreading my fingers through his hair.

And almost as quickly as it started, it stopped. I was left breathless, staring into Wood's dark brown eyes, alit with excitement and confusion. But what was there to be confused about?

"That was… an excitement kiss."

"Yeah, yeah, that was… a fluke," Wood offered, letting his arms go so I could slide slowly down his body.

I shivered, biting my lip as I ignored the strangely enticing feeling of him against me. Because it wasn't enticing. You all are being ridiculous. "I know what a flute is, Wood, and that was no instrumen-"

"A fluke, Darling," Wood smiled down at me, "You need to learn to listen to me."

And then Wood looked at me, and again he became Oliver. The stare was… well, if his body pressed against me wasn't enticing, then at least the way he was staring at me was. It was… deep. And the damned physical repulsion reared it's ugly head again. And just when it had started to settle after that kiss. _I mean flute… er, fluke._

I gulped, trying to swallow passed the vacuum chamber that was my ribcage, "Yeah, well, I can… learn that with someone else. Cause I passed, didn't I?"

Wood sniffed, pulling at the bottom of his sweater as he looked away, "Uh, yeah, yeah, you did."

"So, I don't need the lessons anymore, and you'll tell McGonagall to let me graduate."

"Yeah," Wood wiped at his nose, looking back down at me, "Yeah, you can, um, go."

"Well…" _God, this is awkward._ "I guess I'd, you know, better be going. My friends won't want to kiss, I mean, miss this. It's a big moment in my life."

"Yeah, right," Wood muttered as I turned on him, scurrying away to die of awkwardness and embarrassment in my room.

And really, dying has other benefits - I don't even have to worry about why I kind of want to kiss him again.


	17. It's Beginning to Get to Me

I have a surprise for you guys. At the end of the chapter. **After** the chapter, to be exact. You can't miss it. It's exciting.

**Fun Fact:** Aly's name is probably the most perfect name for a character that I've ever created.  
Aletta - Winged One  
Ashling - Dream, vision (Almost all the dreams in this story have symbolic meaning.)  
Darling - After Wendy, Micheal, and Peter Darling from Peter Pan, the magical trio who learn to fly.

* * *

One week since I not-kissed Wood. One week, and that's all it took for me to vote myself, officially, the sorriest girl in existence. I get panic attacks **every time** Wood walks by, a fact that inevitably restarted rumors. I mean, just because Wood passed me in the hallway and I fainted at that moment doesn't mean he and I are dating! It means I'm allergic to Wood's cologne.

Yes, what was once physical repulsion is now an allergy. That's how desperate I am to deny that something as simple as a crush is happening. I mean, there is no transitory affection going on. How could there be - I still haven't bothered looking up what transitory means!

Of course, with the recent super-sized panic attacks, I've felt the never-ending urge to go flying. But there are only certain hours that I'm allowed to change, and even then I can't always do it because the students would start to notice.

So what option does that leave me? Either I deal with it, which is a fat chance, or I go flying on a broom. Not a problem, right? I can just stroll down to the Quidditch Pitch and _**ASK WOOD TO BORROW A FREAKIN BROOM!**_

To make matters worse, Siren's so close to getting with this guy it's driving me crazy, Willow somehow got involved in the Susan/Penny altercation, and Tom is slowly getting too friendly with me in the common room. And yes, for all of you who are wondering, I _do_ still want to kiss Wood.

But I don't, cause it'd be completely and totally disgusting. I'd have to shower for a week, and then whoever I share my bathroom with would complain and bang on the door and be generally obnoxious.

No, no, kissing Wood is specifically out of the question. As is any other physical contact, aside from the occasional brush of hands when he gives me my broom and when he carried me to Pomfrey. I guess possibly saving my life gives him the right to... cradle me.

That came out so wrong. Not cradle me, but, you know... ugh, I give up. Nothing works anymore in my head, and I've got a continual migraine. Just leave me alone.

* * *

"Hey Tom," I groaned, dragging myself through the hallway and into our common room. I just want to die.

"Evening, Aletta," Tom replied, using my full name in a clipped, snippy tone, "You've forgotten our meeting?"

My brow furrowed - all I wanted to do was go to bed, a feat I was halfway through when Tom said the 'm' word, "We moved all meetings to Monday night for simplicity's sake."

"So?"

"Tom, isn't it Thursday?"

"Yes."

"Then how can we possibly have a Head's meeting?"

I seriously just wanted to go cry in my room. Call it hormones, being over-dramatic, but really, life isn't working out right now. I can feel the blood throbbing through every part of my body, and my eyes are burning just from the effort put forth in being open. Don't make me think in addition.

"Not a Head's meeting - remember? After Charms, I asked you to meet me here."

Tom slowly started to move towards my staircase, where I was leaning. I felt a tendon in my leg start to pull - a sure sign that I desperately need sleep. I didn't even have enough energy to be nervous enough to tug at my hair, much less actually get my hand up.

"You were serious?"

"Intensely," Tom replied, his voice deepening as he leaned his hand against the wall just in front of me, sticking his nose into my face, "This is your last chance. My revenge is in it's final stretch; I've all but caught the Snitch; I'm rounding third and-"

"Tom what are you talking about," I whined. Really, just stop, everyone.

"I told you Darling; you'd be sorry for leaving me the way you did."

"Not this again."

My head fell against the wall, but Tom grasped my chin and brought my face back up to his. "Of course this again, did you think I'd forget? No, no, I've been working too hard to make sure your life is a living hell."

I half-raised an eyebrow at him, "Do you start the rumors about me and Wood?"

"Not really, no."

"Do you assign me more homework than is humanly possibly for an exam that I don't even think matters all that much?"

"Well, no," Tom confessed.

I started to duck under his arm, my feet shuffling up the stairs, "Then you're losing the race."

It took Tom the entire stairway to come up with a response, "You will be sorry. Just because it hasn't taken affect, yet, doesn't mean it won't. I know you, Darling, I know just where you're weak, and you'll get it. You'll get it good! You'll never know what hit you!"

By the time I slammed my door shut behind me, I was awake. I wish I could brush his threats off as merely empty, but I've known Tom too long. He doesn't forget, and he's just spoiled enough to think that he can get everything he wants by throwing a big enough temper tantrum.

I also became acutely aware of the fact that I wouldn't be able to sleep as long as I had this pounding headache keeping me awake. What I really needed was to go for a nice long flight around the lake. While crying and eating chocolate ice cream. Now _that_ sounds like a plan I could get amped about.

_I wonder if Wood would let me have ice cream on a broom. Aw, who are we fooling, I'm the worst Head Girl ever - I don't care about rules._

* * *

I smiled to myself as I tromped down the hill, overcast clouds obscuring the sun beams. Sticking my tongue out, a giant drip of chocolate ice cream assaulted my taste buds. God, I love House Elves. Honestly, there is nothing better than getting House Elf, handmade ice cream. Plus, if you're polite, they'll give you a massage while you wait.

The Quidditch Pitch lay dead ahead of me, Wood's office fire flicking sporadically through the window. _At least I won't have to go searching for him. I don't want to think about what will happen if I have to __ask__ someone where Wood is._ Of course, I don't want to think about it because thinking is painful. And evil, decidedly.

By the time I reached Wood' door, I was finished my ice cream cone and ready to fly or, conversely, faint. I was still swallowing the flavor when Wood opened the door, "Darling."

Wood's smile fell as I started, "Hey Wood, can I-"

"Dear Merlin, Darling, you look horrible. What's that all around your mouth?"

I galred at him, cursing him and his big mouth for the umpteenth time, "Chocolate ice cream."

"Chocolate ice cream? It's freezing out, and where are your robes?"

Alright, so I'm only in my vest and skirt and long-sleeved shirt - the robe is uncomfortable and trips me! "In my room, Wood. Can I borrow a broom?"

Wood leaned passed me out the office, "You aren't flying in this weather, Darling." I groaned, my mind already dreading the trudge up the hill. It'll probably start raining on my way up, too. Hell. "Darling, are you alright?"

The question almost physically threw me off balance. It was the first time someone had asked me that in, well, weeks. The last time was on the camping trip when I got angry at Wood. And for the first time in my life, well...

I kind of wanted to take Wood up on his unsaid offer to listen to my problems whenever I'm breaking down.

It was wrong, but I nodded anyway, Tom's threat coming foremost to my mind. Wood moved aside, "Well, come on in, I've got some tea on to boil."

I nodded again, moving passed him and towards the only thing to sit on that wasn't behind Wood's desk - a small, scarlet loveseat with golden tassels. No doubt homage to Wood's old house. Sighing, Wood closed the door behind me, turning his attention to the boiling kettle.

"Well, start from the beginning, then, Darling."

I sniffed, more from cold than actually behind upset as my hands finally found their way into my hair, "You don't mind?"

Wood looked over his shoulder, raising one bushy eyebrow at me and smiling gently, "If I didn't want to hear it, I wouldn't ask. Go on, the beginning, then."

I nodded, taking and trying to pinpoint where the beginning was. For a moment, I considered stating that it all started with elves, for amusement's sake, but decided against it. Joking seems so unnecessary right now.

* * *

I sighed contently as I strolled down the hill one week later, at a time when everything seemed more manageable. After confessing all my problems to Wood exactly seven days ago, I become so emotionally exhausted I fell asleep on the traitorous, Gryffindor-themed loveseat.

And ever since that day, I've been going down to get a broom and have a nice, casual conversation with Wood. If he weren't my professor, it would almost be like we were friends, or something. But it's not like that - I have these kinds of conversations with Flitwick, too. Wood is nothing more than a hot, Scottish Flitwick who I not-kissed a while ago. That's all.

But, secretly, I think I crave these times with Wood. He makes everything seem so simple, so casual, and yet so intense I wonder how he's the same person who cared about nothing outside of Quidditch so many years ago.

Knocking on the door, I smiled to myself. Today seemed like a nice day to fly - clear, sunny, and warm with that crisp-autumn feeling. "Who is it?"

I smirked, "The cutest Head Girl _ever."_

Alright, so maybe he and me are a little different than me and Flitwick. If Flitwick were younger, I would definitely joke like this with him, too. No doubt. But it'd be awkward to, because Flitwick is... married.

Before I could continue to muse in my head, Wood threw the door open, sucking in a breath as he caught sight of my face, "Oh, Darling."

"Uh, yeah, how many cute Head Girls do you have coming around here? I wanted to go flying," I finished, without bothering to hear Wood spit off tales about how many cute Head Girls come around here. We all know I'm the only one.

"Yes, well, er, I was hoping you could come in here. I have something I want to... talk about with you."

"Um, okay, Mr. I-had-some-bad-tea," I responded sarcastically, easily following him into his office. Strange, how having someone you can talk to easily changes how much better everything else seems. I closed the door behind me, turning back to Wood, "So, Wood, what's-"

And that's when Wood kissed me. Full on, pinning me to the door kissed me. It was more purposeful, more intense, and almost more fulfilling than I last remembered it. I should've pushed at his chest, or slapped his face, or told him to stop, or something.

But I was too shocked, too excited, too much lacking a heart beat and solider legs to fight back. Instead, all I could do was moan a little and run my hands up into his recently wind-blown hair. Had he been flying?

_Oh, bloody hell, it doesn't matter,_ I decided as Oliver's lips found their way almost immediately to my neck, muttering obscenities the whole way down, which were jumbled by my scrambled brain and by Wood insistence on never taking his lips fully off me.

"Mucking bells, Darling, I grupping, Ferlin," I squirmed, and it was when I felt, of all things, the swoosh of my skirt at my thighs that I came to my senses. Here I was, in my school uniform, and I'd already been snogging a Professor for more than a few seconds!

I mean, I get it, I'm not the greatest Head Girl in the world, but **this?!** I read an announcement about this in the beginning of the year! It's completely, in every single solitary way, not allowed! Determined, finally, I started to push Wood off, ignoring the feeling of suction in my chest.

It didn't help at all that Wood was so determined, so single-mindedly sucking at my neck and gripping at my waist, that I'm pretty sure he didn't even feel me pushing at him. "Wood, Wood, we have to stop."

"Mike loody shell, we do," Wood slurred into my neck, his lips dancing their way across my collarbone.

"No, Wood, stop it, really," I could feel myself start to beg, mostly because this was so... hard. Strangely so. Of course, Wood didn't listen - he's got to win at everything. Absolutely everything. Freaking prat. "Wood," I finally screamed, beating against his chest.

Wood laid one final kiss on my lips before pulling back, barely far enough for it to constitute as actually moving away. His body still pressed me firmly into the door, leaving me no escape. Not that I needed one. Wood isn't dangerous, just single-minded. Besides, talking this out now might help this never happen again. At least not 'til I'm graduated.

I mean, I thought we had this straightened out before, but apparently not. Maybe I shouldn't introduce myself as the cutest Head Girl ever. That could give the wrong impression.

"Aly," I sucked in a breath at my first name, "Don't start lecturing me."

He whispered it against my lips, a distinct difference between my upset almost-squeal, "What do you want me to do, Wood? This is just plain _wrong._"

"Really? That's what you'll call this? Cause I've been thinking about it for four long months, and it isn't going away. Believe me, I want more than anything for this to go away. It complicates everything for me exponentially."

"And it doesn't for me? Wood, please, just... no. No, there isn't even anything I can say to justify it!"

"Aly, I crave you," Wood responded, like **that** was going to justify it.

I scoffed, trying to ignore the almost electric surge that the words, Wood's breath puffing against my face, sent through me, "Do you burn, pine, and perish too?"

Wood's brow furrowed, his eyes closing painfully at my mocking, "Aly-"

"Stop calling me that! I'm Darling, remember? Head Girl, really bitchy, hates Quidditch. I hate Quidditch, Wood! How does that make you feel?"

"Like kissing you again," Wood replied, his eyes opening and boring back down into mine.

I nearly choked before I could respond, "That's just... it's wrong, alright!"

"Why, because I'm your teacher? I teach First Years how to ride a broom and I referee the Quidditch Games; I'm hardly a part of the staff."

"No, no, you're a very big part of the staff, and a part of the staff that I shouldn't be snogging!"

Wood smirked, "Well, if you yell it any louder, I won't be a part of the staff, anymore. Then we'll have no more reasons against this, won't we?"

_No, no we won't._ "Yes, yes we will!"

Wood smirked down at me, one of his hands finally tearing itself away from my side and smacking into the door next to my head, "Oh? What?"

"Uh, you're disgustingly older than me?"

"Four years, plus an extra bit. We're not even in different generations."

"Well, there's the problem that _I don't like you."_

Wood arched an eyebrow at me, "You don't?"

"No," I responded, and that was all the time it took for Wood to swoop back down, ultimately proving his point.

Because I do like Wood. I like Wood a lot.

Oh, mucking bell.

* * *

I made you guys a surprise, in the way of a music video. For all of you who read my Supernatural Fanfics, you'll know that I've been making them videos for a while. Wordlessly, I've been searching around for a place to download clips of Harry Potter and John Tucker Must Die.

I never mentioned it because I thought it would never happen. But it did. Link is in my homepage, along with a link to another banner.


	18. One Night is Not Enough

_"You left your door wide open, couldn't help but walk in,  
It's the last place I should be, but I'm dying to see you_

You woke up cold this morning and shied away from my touch,  
I would never mean to hurt you cause I love you so much  
Was it only one night that you ever wanted from me?"  
-One Night is Not Enough by Snow Patrol (The first two lines are from Aly, and the rest is from Oliver, thought-wise)

Alright, so this is a lot of thinking that lead up to something happening very fast, but in my defense that's really just how Aly is. Let's not blame the character I created...

* * *

I took a deep, shuddering breath as I sat in my blue-covered room, trying to remember everything that had happened exactly in my mind. Really, there wasn't a lot; Oliver kissed me, I shot him down, he kissed me again, and I ran out of his office flapping my arms like a mad man.

And now I'm in my bedroom, looking around at all the trinkets, the memories, the enchanted flag that switches between 'Ravenclaw' and our cawing raven mascot that I got at the one Quidditch game I ever went to, studying everything closely. My eyes danced blurrily across my plentiful bookshelves, adorned with ratty books privileged only to a Head Girl about Hogwart's myth, history, etc.

And then, in that same sickening dance, my eyes landed on that note. That Merlin-be-damned, absolutely horridly rotten note. I hate Oliver for that note, I really, truly do.

I got it not thirty seconds after I made it back to my dorm room, like the owl had chased me all the way up. As I fiddled with my anklet, trying to hush it up, there was a tap on the window, and my heart stopped as various images of Oliver at my window, mouth agape at watching my transformation flew to my mind.

But instead it was Oliver's owl, an owl I'd taken to recognizing, for my own safety. Large and tan with black speckles and large, orangey eyes, its note was the only thing I really cared about. Six words, that was all that he bothered to write.

_I'm sorry. It won't happen again._

There were no names, no real explanation, and it left me with this horribly empty feeling. Somehow, I really just wanted for Oliver to tell me that it was a mistake, but it wasn't a lie. I couldn't shake that feeling that this was all just a horrible prank to try and play with my head, like a muggle movie where the boy bets that he can make the girl fall in love with him and then she finds out and everything is ruined.

I should've burned the note by now, for safety. Sure, there were no identifying names or seals, but it was still risky to keep it in my room. What would I do if Tom walked in right now? He enjoys being nosy, and if he even caught sight of the note it would be the end.

_The end of what? The end of Oliver and me?_ The thought brought another inexplicable spring of tears to my eyes, blurring my eyesight exponentially. **Expo-freaking-entially.** I tried to hold back the sob that eventually follows every crying fit that I have. How suspicious would _that_ look if Tom walked in?

One hand was weaving through my hair and tugging mercilessly, the other covering my mouth desperately, hoping for some strange reprieve in this completely illogical emotional fit. God, how bad can I PMS in one month?

For a second, I considered owling Siren for much needed emotional support, but thought better of it almost immediately. Not only would she 'off-handedly mention' that _her_ Romeo would never do this to her, but there's also the tiny part where I can't tell anyone about this, ever, in my life.

I stood and stumbled over to the note on my desk, one hand steadying myself as I gazed down at the crinkled-then-re-smoothed parchment, Oliver's continuously pompous handwriting glaring back up at me.

_Hold on, back this up,_ I thought, every bodily function freezing on cue as I carefully repeated the thought in my mind, _Am I calling him Oliver, now? That's so… awkward sounding. Why isn't he Wood anymore? What's happened to me?_

I know I still want to kiss him, almost desperately, but to be on a first name basis with him? That is a completely different level of mental commitment that I'm not accustomed to or equipped for. And it's stopping immediately.

I mean, kissing could be a completely hormonal thing - a physical reaction that I can't necessarily control in my teenage years. As Oliver… Wood, so elegantly put it, it's really more of a craving, no more annoying 

than craving chocolate or… drugs. But I'm a Ravenclaw - my ultimate weapon, what I can control and utilize the most, is my mind, my thinking, my nearly flawless logic.

So how could I possibly let myself slip up as to thinking of Oliver as Wood? I mean Wood as Oliver! Oh God, this is horrible. A kiss, a kiss is **nothing!** But this, this is wrong. He's my professor. Yeah, I'm not the most respectful student, and I don't really do tradition or formalities, but still, completely other level!

A level that's nothing more than an adventure I'm not embarking on. No, no, not happening, at all. Even a little. No first step, no jumping off the cliff. Because that's what me and Wood would be - jumping off a cliff into certain death, and expulsion! After all the freaking work I put into graduating, I'm not going to get expelled! I refuse!

Rebelliously, my chest concaved and I remembered the feeling of Oliver, his body pushed against mine, his lips dancing across my collarbone as I tried to summon the strength to push him away, confident that it was the right thing to do.

_And it was right! I mean, expulsion! __EXPULSION!__ Dating a teacher is dangerous territory, even if it wasn't against the rules; it's just plain __dangerous__. And that kind of danger, I'm just not brave enough to face. For heaven's sake, who does Oliver think I am? A Gryffindor?_

I dully noted that Oliver had been a Gryffindor. He was brave enough to try and do this; to sneak around behind everyone else's back, to risk everything he had, to risk his future, humiliation, his reputation, everything I thought would always be more important.

And with a sick, sharp intake of breath and the return of blurred-vision, what I thought actually, well, registered. _Everything I thought would always be more important to Wood than a girl; his reputation, his appeal, the very way people view him… he's willing to risk that all for me. He's not that selfish, macho jerk head who I so quickly snubbed at the beginning of the year. He's… everything Ginny said, and yet somehow much more attractive._

The realization was… crushing, in nearly every respect. My one hand on the back of my chair turned into two, just to keep myself from collapsing. Suddenly, it was like Wood was everywhere; he was slowly taking over my brain and lodging himself into my being, his distinctive scent of broom polish, straw, and woodsy-soap nearly suffocating me.

_He's willing to risk it all for __**me.**_ My throat dried up at the almost sickening thought. Scratch that, it dried up at the quite actually sickening thought. I barely made out my knuckles whiten with tension as my knees continued to turn to mush, more thoughts crowding into my mind, Oliver's lips still dancing across my collarbone.

_No, not Oliver, Wood's lips dancing across my collarbone. Wait, __**no,**__ there will be no dancing. There __was__ no dancing. I'm not even thinking about this anymore! It's… it's done. I'm burning the note right now._

_But, I mean, how does he do it,_ I groaned desperately, walking back to my bed and falling onto it. _What gives him the right to be this much of a pain in my ass? To wedge himself this far into my consciousness? No, wait, I'm not thinking about it! It's not… anything! He's disgusting, really._

With a decisive flick of my wrist, "Incendio." With a small leap into the air, the note crinkled and burned, the smell of flaming parchment filling my nostrils and reminding me how disgusting the stench is. _Disgusting like Wood. Just remember that._

* * *

I've come to a very definitive decision. All I have to do is make it to the end of the year, and then I'm safe. I can run away forever; away from Siren and her damn Phantom of the Hogwarts, and from the Penny-Susan-Willow drama, and Brendon's creepy stares, and most importantly away from Wood. They have dragons in America, I'm sure. No one will ever find me.

The sound of my Mary Janes clapping against the stone floor towards the Great Hall reminded me of where I was, and that I was talking to Siren about, whom else, Phantom of the Hogwarts, as I've taken to calling him. Why? Because he magically disappears whenever I come around.

"And then he said the most interesting thing," Siren continued, chewing at her lip, "Said it was by that William Blake guy that you love."

My ears perked - my mother had left me and Jay a few things before she mysteriously left, and among my 'gifts' was a book of William Blake poetry. I'd been able to turn a few people onto his writings, but my friends just think he's boring. "Oh really, what did he say?"

I honestly didn't care - I was concentrating on food. That's how I've started to get through the days, I focus on the small things, getting through each obstacle and then immediately concentrating on the next one. Like when I'm in Potions, all I can do is concentrate on getting to Transfiguration, and when I'm in Transfiguration all I can think about is making it to lunch. After lunch I'll think about getting through the next class, and so on.

"He told me that, 'Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.' Isn't that just really deep?" At that same moment, I heard the Great Hall's door open again behind me, and was immediately overtaken by Wood's scent.

_Love builds a Heaven in Hell's despair,_ I thought to myself sardonically as he, wordlessly, walked passed me and sat between Hagrid and Flitwick. That's what Wood and I have been these past few days - cold silence. Nothing like the miniature Heaven Wood helped me build in my personal, social Hell.

With a shock in my stomach, I remembered that that was something people who were in love did, according to William Blake, and pushed the thought from my mind. Still, all through the meal, I couldn't help but sneak quite a few glances at Wood - glances that no one noticed, I thought, until Wood suddenly stood and hurried out of the Great Hall, shooting me a glare on the way out.

_Oh, Merlin, did he see?_ I stood at the bench, like I subconsciously wanted to go after him, or something. I mean, I kind of miss talking to him, and yeah we can't date or snog or whatever he wants, but can't we still be friends? _Heaven in Hell's despair._

I groaned as I sat back down, earning me a couple of odd stares from my tablemates. _I know Wood likes me, that was established a long time ago! That doesn't mean that I necessarily like him, though. I just… like talking to him. Possibly more than I've liked talking to my friends these past few days._

And that was when suddenly everything made horrible sense in my mind - I **had** to go after Wo… Oliver. I just… I couldn't let it all end like this. Not after the precarious balance we'd found before. I had to stand up and run after him, hoping that he was going to whichever office I chose to run to.

Before I knew it, there I was, standing in the middle of the hallway in front of Wood's office door, breathing slightly off kilter and just as quickly regretting the decision as I had been to make it in the first place. What if he needs some time to cool down? The last thing I want is to be stuck in a room with a man I shot down who may or may not be holding a serious grudge. Experience hath shown that this is a bad path.

At the same time, it killed me a little to come all this way, skipping lunch almost completely, just to turn back like a dog with my tail between my legs. _Alright, I'll go about this the old-fashioned way; if he's in there and the door is unlocked, I'll talk to him; if he isn't there or the door is locked, I won't bother. Sound logic, good for me._

Taking a deep breath, I flinched as I tried the knob, which was open. _But maybe he's not in there,_ I thought, slightly desperate. But when I opened my eyes, I was greeted with a warm fire and Wood, his chair pulled out from behind his desk so he could stare into said warm fire.

With a small glance, he looked over his shoulder at me, "Darling? What are you doing here?"

"I. uh, you looked upset in the Great Hall," I tried, slowly shutting the door behind me and fighting what small bit of common sense I can claim as my own, "I thought maybe you'd want to talk."

Still looking over his shoulder at me, and looking very tired, Wood's shoulders rose in an amused shrug, "You want to talk to me about my problems?"

"Well, yeah," I said uncertainly, grabbing the only other chair and pulling it up beside him, "I mean, you helped me all last week, and, well, it seeme-"

"Talking to you won't help me, Darling," Wood responded, still sounding tired but amused at the fact that I was trying nonetheless.

"Well, why not," I questioned, hoping that _that_ would get him talking. How did I do this on the camping trip?

"Because you're what's so upsetting, Darling," Wood muttered, using his right hand to massage his temple.

"Wh-"

"It's nothing, Darling. I just… I've never been actually turned down before. Hell, I never even had to pursue a girl before you, really. Girlfriends just kind of… fell into my lap."

I snorted, "Now _there's_ a way to live."

Wood ignored the comment, "And I, well, I was hoping that you and I could somehow work out, and we can't. I know that, and I've just got to… deal with it."

"Bu-"

My voice died in my throat, revelations pouring into my mind, all surrounding around the words, _Heaven in Hell's despair._ I want to build a Heaven in Hell's despair for Oliver! Merlin's frickin' beard, I want to build a Heaven in Hell's despair!

The thought was… invigorating, and I jumped to my feet, like it would give me the courage to say what was already tumbling out of my mouth, "Oliver, kiss me!"

_God I hope no one heard that... well, except Oliver._ Sighing, he looked up at me, "What?"

I could almost laugh at the irony, but at the same time I became acutely aware of fearing rejection. He said he knew it couldn't work, but maybe… "**Kiss** me!"

Wood scoffed, "Don't play with me, Darling, it doesn't suit you."

_Oh, for heaven's sake,_ I leaned down, startlingly confident as I pressed my lips against Oliver's, his own mouth immediately responding with a few _very_ appropriate reactions.


	19. Chasing Cars

This chapter is like the Frankenstein of all my chapters. The last part was meant to be so much longer, but then it was bordering three thousand words, and I decided that was ridiculous, esepcially since it wasn't done, so this is what you get.

And guess what I'm writing this all on? My brand spankin' new laptop. That's right, it's that amazing. Love it.

**Fun fact:** Originally, Siren's nickname was actually going to be 'Carrie.' When this became the name of the heroine of my other series, I decided it would be too confusing for me and for my reader's, and changed the nickname to 'Siren,' since it's what she was named after the sirens anyway; in my mind, her laugh reminds me of what I think the Siren's call would be like.

* * *

I smiled into Oliver's mouth as he pulled me forcefully into his lap, my legs splaying hazardously out to the side. Gravity pulled me further into his grasp, and I couldn't bring myself to fight that too much. Hell, let's all just be honest, I couldn't fight it at all. And you all probably saw this coming, didn't you?

Well, bugger off, cause I've got the guy now and I'm kind of enjoying this moment. I'm savoring it.

Or at least I was, until the kiss suddenly turned French style; _then_ I realized what savoring it really meant. Oliver's hands were everywhere; my hair, my hips, my waist. He was like that Hindu goddess, or maybe it was the wife of Buddha. I'm really not thinking straight, but I'm really not caring. Really, honestly, everything is just falling away, and it all seems simpler. Managable, even.

Oliver pulled away, and I groaned, "Wood, w-"

"Are you serious about this, Darling," Oliver questioned, his eyes still closed, his breath huffing against my lips. _Is he fucking serious?!_

"Wh-"

"Because this would be the complete opposite of helping me out if you're joking," Oliver continued, still breathing against my lips in a seriously maddening way. Can we get back to the kissing? **Now!**

"N-"

"I just… God, Aly, I've wanted you since _before_ school started; I saw you at Diagon Alley, laughing and messy and covered in chocola-"

"Wood," I finally cut him off, not quite sure I wanted to hear about the first moment he knew I was the girl for him _just_ now. He opened his eyes, still breathing against my lips happily. I smiled down at him, my hands hooking behind his head and weaving through the beginnings of his hair, "This isn't a joke."

That was all he needed to hear before he was back on me, his lips crashing against mine. My chest stuck in it's ever constant vacuum chamber, I tried to remember, of all things, what class I had next, and when it started. _I wonder if Oliver would sign me a late note…_

* * *

After that, my relationship with Oliver became, well, officially underwraps and the most intense combination of passion and sweetness and awkwardness that I've had the pleasure of being a part of.

We've got a system down, now, though, and that helps a lot. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I'm tutoring an 'anonymus' student in Arithmacy and Ancient Runes, according to my friends. Really, I'm with Oliver, hanging out, sometimes even getting homework done.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are friend-time, so they don't get suspicious. Then the weekends, well, they're wild cards. If we're in the mood to see each other, we find a reason; and if we don't, I hang out with my friends and Oliver… plans more Quidditch games.

So that really works out surprisingly well. What makes it awkward is when we run into each other in, say, the Great Hall, or on the lawn. Should we say hi? Should we ignore each other? How long should eye-contact last? Would it be alright if I threw up from nervousness because I just **know** this is all going to go very wrong very soon?

Now _that's_ awkward.

* * *

I sighed, unreasonably content as I laid my head against my forearms, which were folded neatly underneath my head, Oliver sighing in the same exact fashion next to me, Oliver and I have been, well, it's still weird to say… we've been _seeing each other_ for almost an entire month. I leave tomorrow afternoon for the Hogwart's Express on Christmas vacation, and in fact I have to leave in a half an hour to exchange gifts with the girls in my room.

The exchange isn't happening for an hour, but I'm leaving in a half an hour – Lord knows what will happen if I'm not there and dry and warm when they get there, not to mention I'm pretty sure they're expecting decorations. I wonder which charm to use to drum up some holly…

"Darling," Oliver questioned, using my full name. I could feel his voice through the top of my head. We'd been cuddling, or as close as cuddling as we could get without using our hands. I think Oliver's willing, but I'm so freezing and my hands are so warm pinned between my head and the blanket.

"Hmm," I questioned lazily, my eyes trained on the sky. It reminded me sickeningly of the trip to the forest, the first time we'd ever been close…

"Am I… are we going to get each other…" Oliver paused, and I risked moving to roll onto my side and look at him, a quirked eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"Christmas presents?"

_Oh,_ I thought to myself awkwardly. Christmas presents? They made senes, but what would I get him? Broom polish? A Quidditch strategy book? I've seen his bookcase – he has every one. Or at least, every one that isn't a limited eddition, two-hundred galleon rotten one from 'back in the day.' And let's all be honest – I don't have two hundred galleons. I'm not even sure I have two galleons.

"Uh, well, I honestly wasn't thinking about it. I don't have anything, but if you want to I'm sure I can find," I felt myself start to babble, thankful for Oliver's amused laugh cutting me off.

"No, no, I just wanted to make sure."

I smiled up at him before slipping my hands into his robe, clasping them around his back and turning my head back towards the sky, "Consider this our Christmas gift to each other."

"We're giving each other the sky," Oliver questioned, obviously amused at what I was saying.

"You could look at it like that, but I was going to say body heat."

"Oh, right," Oliver replied, and I could tell he wasn't spasaming with the cold, but unadulterated laughter.

"Shut up," I complained, sliding one hand out to slap him on the chest before pulling myself against him again, "You know, you could fix this if you just used that heating spell you know."

"And ruin our Christmas gifts? I'd never dream of it," he laughed back, kissing the top of my head, "God, Darling, you're one in a million." After that, for all of thirty seconds, we lay there in relative silence before, "Am I going to see you before you leave tomorrow?"

"Don't you have to take the train," I asked, smiling and snuggling into his chest. Who knew broom polish and straw could combine to make Oliver smell even sexier?

"Well, yeah, but I figured that you'd want to spend the time with your friends. Besides, the train isn't really… private. People could walk i-"

"Doesn't mean I'm not allowed to say goodbye to my favorite professor," I replied cutely, pulling my hand forward to lightly draw circles all around Oliver's chest, which tensed at random intervals under my touch, "So I'll say I have to go to the bathroom and viola; instant twenty minutes of goodbye-time."

"Twenty minutes?"

"I never go back to places immediately after going to the bathroom – I go to the bathroom to escape, anyway," I explained easily, "I'll have twenty minutes, and an excuse if they find me wandering around the train like a lost puppy."

"Perfect," Oliver replied sarcastically, "I'll keep that in mind when you try to convince me you have to go after only a few minutes."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you feel like wondering again," Oliver replied with a certainty.

I looked up at him, a little panicked that he thought of me as some flighty looney, "Wood, you know th-"

Wood smiled as he swooped down, taking the opportunity to crash his lips effectively into mine. Is it wrong that these are quite possibly the best times I have with Wood? They're all fun and cute and intense and I don't even have to worry about being witty! I can just enjoy it and respond.

His hands found their way to my waist, clutching there like he was scared I was going to run away. It was… comforting. Like everytime he kissed me, it reminded me that he wasn't doing this on a whim – he honest to God wanted me.

Of course, it was at that moment that my wand started to burn my back pocket, and I pulled away, hissing in pain as I reached for the occult piece of wood. "What," Oliver questioned, tucking a strand of loose hair behind my eat and looking deliciously worried.

I rolled my eyes, "No, no, my wand is telling me I have to go."

"Your wand is telling you," Oliver questioned, an eyebrow raised disbelievingly.

I nodded, tapping said wand authoritively against my left middle knuckle, "Yeah. It's a spell that my brother found in an old book so he wouldn't keep missing classes. It burns at a certain time, like an alarm clock."

"Right, and where do you have to go," Wood questioned, not believing a word of what I was saying.

"Polyana with my friends," I responded, wrinkling my nose.

Wood nodded, "Are they all still fighting?"

Standing, I shook my head in the darkness, "No, no, it would ruin their Christmas cheer."

Wood shrugged as he joined me in the vertical position, wrapping his arm tightly around himself, "At least they've got their priorities in order."

I rolled my eyes at him, "I know, right? Anyway, it's my job to host it, since I have my own room and I know how to get them back without getting caught, so I've got to go set-up and wash the Wood-spit off my face."

Oliver snorted as I turned, "Thanks."

I froze, wrinkling my nose and running my hand through my hair before turning back to my boyfriend, "Hey babyyyy."

"Oh Lord," he silently cursed to himself as I stepped a little closer, "What?"

"Can I borrow a broom to fly back up to my dorm?"

Oliver's jaw dropped automatically, "Are you really that lazy?"

I nodded, pouting at him, and he sighed, "Yeah, yeah, just grab one out of my office."

"Which one," I questioned. Some of the brooms are broken, and some are just crazy. I've nearly gotten killed because I grabbed the wrong one.

"The, uh, the light blue Nimbus should be fine."

I wrinkled my nose again, this time in confusion, "Which one's a Numbus?"

Oliver's jaw dropped before he recovered, "Erm, I guess I should go with you. Just, let me clean this up." Ever the gentleman, Oliver leaned down, shaking out his dark-green blanket and picking up two thermuses.

This wasn't a date, though - Oliver and I don't go on 'dates.' They put unnecessary risk and strain on our relationship; that is, unless you count the numberless afternoons I've spent lounging in his office, basking in the simplicity of the world within the office.

We do, on the other hand, occasionally spend a few hours stargazing and sipping hot chocolate that I beg off the House Elves. Well, not really beg, but still, I have to go and ask and everything. But it's not a date, so it's no big deal.

* * *

I bit my lip as I gazed out my window into the blinding flurry of white, desperately missing Hogwarts. I bet the Pitch looks absolutely _breathtaking_ covered in snow. In my hand, I clutched a flier that had been sent out to all Ravenclaws, a 'Christmas greeting' from Elliot, our Quidditch team's captain, reminding everyone that try-outs for a replacement beater were the night we got back and that everyone should get out there and 'give it their all.'

Of course, I should have thrown it out the moment I got the letter – it was the third I'd gotten. All Ravenclaw games had been courteously cancelled until the team could wrangle up a new beater, as the first one had been seriously injured. So far, no luck whatsoever.

But I keep the letter; it reminds me of Oliver, as geeky as that is. Christmas Eve – I've been away from school for all of a week, and I miss Oliver. Can everyone say pathetic with me? Pa-the-t….

I looked back up at my window, where I heard a tapping, and screamed as I saw a pale, bordering sickly looking face smiling at me through the snow and night. "Oliver," I screeched, trying to be as quiet as I could manage with my shock.

With a frenzied arm movement, I opened the window for him, and he tumbled in, shivering. "D-D-D-Darl-"

"Oliver, what are you doing," I screeched in my same hushed, high-picthed tone, leaving him to flinch in his shiverring fit.

"R-R-Ran into a snowstorm," He finally manged.

Unsure of what else to do, I started to peel the icy layers of clothing off him, gaping, "Why the hell did you fly to see me in a snow storm?"

He couldn't bring himself to answer me as I tore off his sweater, almost dieing at the sight of a much-too-tight T-shirt underneath it. Why doesn't he wear **those** at school? Getting with him would have been so much easier.

Almost unsure, I reached forward, like I had to be sure there was no clothing, or plastic inflatable set of muscles, underneath, but right before I could make contact he shivered, and I remembered what I was supposed to be doing.

Reachiing for my wand on my bedside table, I pointed it at my fireplace dutifully, "Incendio." A fire popped up, and I stood to try and find a swearshirt of mine that might fit my boyfriend. I think I have some old things of Jay's…. "Here," I offered, throwing him a large 'Cudly Cannons' T-shirt. I don't know how he'll feel about that.

His lips regaining color, Oliver pulled on the sweatshirt without seeming to realize what he was doing. He must have nearly died out there. He looked up at me with a shakey smile, "Thanks."

I smiled as I sat beside him in front of the fire, wrapping my arms around him and pulling his head forcefully into my lap; I'll make him get better before my father comes up to say goodnight or _else_, "Not a problem, now what were you doing?"

"I had to see you," Oliver muttered, turning and watching the flames dance and warm him. If only I could remember how to do that damn hot-air charm. But it's too risky – Oliver's clothing could start to do the polka if I do it wrong.

"Why? It's Christmas Eve, shouldn't you be with your family?"

Wood shook his head, mumbling something about time off, before he looked back up at me, "'Sides, I had to give you your present."

Ignoring the first, mumbled part completely, my jaw dropped, "We said no presents!"

Oliver smiled, "I know – this is for our one-month anniversary."


	20. All I Want for Christmas is You

… Oh shit, we're doing one-month anniversary presents? I'm screwed over in the worst way. This could possibly be worse than when I was going to fail the Flying Test. I at least could run way from the Flying Test; here, I'm struck. He's in my room!

Oliver shook his head, obviously already nearly recovered, "I know you don't have anything for me; I planned for getting you this for Christmas, but you said no gifts, and this was just too perfect."

I sighed, finally giving in, "What was?" Smiling, Oliver pushed himself up, shaking his head and spraying melted-ice, also known as water, across the room. I flinched, laughing, but Oliver looked more excited as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, square box, "Here, open it now."

I rolled my eyes, "You're like a child, Oliver Wood."

Still, I couldn't help but be excited as I ripped the bit of wrapping paper up and threw open the box. I wasn't disappointed, but I wasn't excited by what I saw. A little pin of a raven, no bigger than an inch by an inch and a half. This is what he had to get me? Why, because I'm in Ravenclaw? That's horrible reasoning.

"It's small and inconspicuous, so you can wear on your book bag all the time," Oliver offered. Why is that so exciting? "But watch what it can do." Leaning over me to grab a piece of paper from my bedside table, Wood scratched at it with a quill, writing on it, before crumbling it up in his hands and muttering a word under his breath.

I grimaced, "Wood, what are you doing? That's my paper-" At my protests, Wood opened his hand to show me that the paper had disappeared, a sly grin on his face. My jaw dropped, "What did you do to my paper?"

With a caw, the raven pin started to flap out of the box and twirl around in the air before landing lightly on my shoulder before hacking up a crumpled piece of paper, magically expanding as it fell onto the ground. With a raised eyebrow, I looked up at Oliver, who was just smiling giddily.

"Open it," Oliver urged, "Go on, open it!"

I laughed, "You do realize it's _my_ present, right?"

"Who cares, it's so cool," Oliver insisted, finally picking up the paper and shoving it in my hand, "It's the note I wrote! Now if I ever need to see you or tell you not to come to my office cause someone is there, I can!"

I giggled, "You're like a child. This isn't that exciting."

"It's brilliant," Oliver insisted, moving closer to probably show me some other crazy use of the pin when we both heard a knock on the door.

"Aly, honey? Are you ready for bed, yet?" My arm tensed as it flew to rake through my hair.

"Uh, almost, Daddy! I'm just…. Reading a card from my friends. Give me a minute," I called, trying to sound sweet.

'What do I do,' Oliver questioned as my jaw dropped, and I shrugged helplessly before pushing at him towards my bed. Oliver shot me an odd look, and I glared at him before shoving him to his knees and mouthing at him, 'under the bed!'

Since I never spent very much time at my house in England anymore, I didn't have a closet. That would be much more useful, but it's not an option so I'm not going to dwell on it. Wordlessly, Oliver fell onto his back and rolled under the bed. _Thank the Lord he's just loud and not an idiot._

I glanced around, trying to make sure that there were no signs of Oliver in the room. _Shit, wrapping paper._ I leaned over, throwing the wrapping paper into the fire and grabbing the box before diving into my bed, almost forgetting not to move too much so Oliver didn't get squished.

"Alright, come on in, Daddy," I called back carefully. _Oh, wait, shit, no, I should've let Oliver le-_

My father walked in, a book tucked underneath his arm, "Are you ready, sweetie?"

I smiled carefully, "Yeah, Daddy." And with no other introduction, he sat on the edge of the bed next to me, opening the book and starting to read _'Twas the Night Before Christmas…'_ twelve times.

* * *

My father smiled as he closed the book, "Did you mind that horribly, sweetie?"

I bit my lip – my father loved reading this book to me, and since I went to Hogwarts I didn't mind anything that let me spend time with him. "No, no, why would you say that?"

"Well, you were squirming all through the story; I thought you might be getting bored."

"I'm just… excited for Christmas," I replied, smiling and shrugging guiltily. I'm such a Daddy's girl I sicken myself a little. But it's all of four months a year – I can deal with it.

My Dad smiled, obviously proud, like he knew I was a good kid cause I was still excited about Christmas, "Well then I'll let you get to sleep, okay?"  
"Yeah, thanks Dad," I nodded at him, leaning back into my pillows and letting him kiss me on the cheek, "Night."

"Night, sweet." As my father turned and left the room, I let out a deep breath of relief. That is, until my father turned back, his eyebrows knitted, "Honey?"

"Yeah, Daddy?" _Oh God, he knows. Oh God…_

"Why is there a broom in your room? You hate brooms."

_Oh… fuck._ "Er, uh, F…uh…litwick… Professor Flitwick gave it to me. He thought I deserved a gift for, you know, passing the Flying Test and learning to fly on a broom. So he… gave me a broom."

"That's generous," my father commented before lifting the broom up and waving it around, "It's real high quality. Top of the line."

I nodded, "Yeah, yeah, real high grade; you know Flitwick – real dedicated to his students."

My father nodded, "Be sure to send him a thank you note."

"Of course, Daddy. Night."

"Night," my father muttered, putting the broom back onto the ground in front of the window, where a certain Scottish boy who is currently under my bed had left it. And no, there isn't more than one.

Another deep breath and my Dad closed the door to my bedroom, probably heading to take gifts down to the Christmas tree before he went to bed. Carefully, Oliver stuck his head out before scooting out from under the bed, flinching.

"Your broom, from Flitwick," Oliver raised a bushy eyebrow at me before standing, "And how many times did you two have to read that book?"

"Twelve times," I responded, "For the twelve days of Christmas."

Oliver rolled his eyes before leaning over me, planting a soft kiss on my lips, "Well, Happy Christmas, Aly, and a happy-one month anniversary."

My head spun around, _Whoa._ "Yeah, yeah, night."

Oliver smirked before spinning, "Keep the raven on you, aye?"

I smiled, feeling all too geeky, "Always."

Oliver threw one last heart-stopping smirk over his shoulder before flying off into the night; God, he's sexy. Why didn't I do this before? Oh, right, he's my teacher. Crap. I should also probably get him something – I mean, he obviously thinks this raven pin is the most awesome thing in the world, and it is pretty damn cool.

As I got up to close the window behind Oliver as he flew off, a paper flew under my feet. Glancing down, I saw the wavy, blurry, enchanted, title. _Quidditch try-outs! Show your house spirit!_ I bit my lip, doesn't Oliver like Quidditch?

Alright, that's a dumb question, but would he like it if **I** tried to play Quidditch? Beaters are the ones with the bat, right? Aw, hell, Jay can teach me how to play, he was… was he a Beater for Hufflepuff? Or maybe he was a… goalie. Er, Keeper, that's the word.

But still, would he like it? It'd be, like, taking an interest in his interests, and all the sitcoms say that's amazing. Tom always just laughed at me when I tried to get interested in Quidditch, but maybe Oliver will think it's cute. Maybe he'll even… _like_ it.

I think it's a chance I'm willing to take.

* * *

"So, Bryony, do you really think I have a shot at this," I questioned as I hovered next to her. Try-outs hadn't started just yet, and looking around all I see is a sea of testosterone and blubbery muscle. I feel _really_ out of place, even if there are only six boys.

"Can you stay on your broom now?"

"Yeah, yeah O- Professor Wood," I corrected myself, hunching over in an attempt to escape the wind, "Always said I have good turning technique, and my brother taught me a little."

"Well, then you won't look like too much a fool – half of these guys were here for the first one. I think your only competition is little Abbott," Bry responded, "We considered him last time, but he didn't hit a target. Just don't fight with Elliot – everyone did last time. About his tactics."

I appraised the younger Abbot, whose first name Justin and who one of the only boys of a decent weight. "Alright, alright, be a suck-up. I should've brought flowers, or worn blue sweatpants."

"No, no, the last time Elliot paid attention to what we wear he was in third year and going through puberty."

I laughed openly, "You weren't even on the Quidditch team in his third year."

"Yeah, but I figure he went through it some time, so it was probably third year."

"Alright, you lot, line up!"

Bry reached forward and squeezed my hand, "Good luck."

I sighed, gripping the broom that had given me at the beginning of practice as I turned towards the captain, who was telling us just how this try-out would go. We would be playing with the rest of the team, to see how we all worked together, and there would be floating targets that we, one at a time, would have to hit the Bludgers at. We would also have to defend our players from the Bludgers.

At that, Elliot walked around to give everyone their bat, which would have a number to decide our order for us. Elliot paused as he saw my hand, "Darling?"

I shifted under his amazed stare, "Hey, Elliot."

Elliot, aka Ben, was a curly-haired blonde with a continuous tan and would probably be a surfer if he was a muggle. Despite this typically laid-back attitude, he was known for intensity on the field that couldn't rival Wood's, but was still a little scary.

"You're trying out to be a beater," he questioned, looking me up and down.

I reached a hand up to twirl in the hair hanging out of my ponytail, "Uh, yeah. Thought I'd give it a shot – it looks fun."

"Uh, yeah, just… be careful out there, huh," Elliot questioned, handing me my bat. Number four, right in the center.

"Alright," I responded, shifting again as Elliot gave the boy standing next to me his bat before starting again, mounting his broom and hovering.

"If it's not your turn, then sit on the bench. I won't call you – you have your numbers and you can see who is dismounting. Consider it your first test. Number seven – tell me when it's you getting on, so I can know it's time to end the practice."

Everyone nodded, and six of us trudged towards a muddy bench that was placed directly in front of a Ravenclaw stand. I counted the people carefully, almost continuously checking to see if I was next or not. Eventually, everyone got very annoyed with me, and it was a relief to everyone that my number came.

With short, slightly sporadic breaths, I mounted my broom, trying to simultaneously remember everything Oliver taught me, everything Jay taught me, and to breathe. Surprisingly, breathing was the hardest.

"I'm on," I screamed at Elliot as I glided passed him, and thus my try-out started.

And for quite a while, I cruised around, trying to figure out what to do. All the boys had started out by rushing towards the Bludgers, knocking them around at the floating targets. Of course, many of those boys either hit a player or hit themselves, neither or which look good. But does it look better to sit at the top of the pitch and squeal?

I probably sat there, deciding on a course of action before the first half of the try-out before hopefully looking to Bry. Maybe she could give me one more last minute tip, or something. But as my eyes moved towards her, just a little bit away, I noticed a startlingly fast-moving black object following my eye-line.

_Oh my God, a Bludger is trying to hit my protégé!_ So I took off, hurrying for Bry and screaming at her to duck, as she was quite unaware of the Bludger. I made it to her what felt like just in time, swinging the bat wildly at the black ball of occult lead and feeling very much like a mother lion defending her cub.

It occurred to me mildly to try and direct it away from the group of players, and as a flash of red shot into the corner of my eye, I screamed and turned mid-hit, aiming for the red inadvertently. A few seconds later, with a sickening crash, the Bludger hit a floating target.

"Nice shot, Darling," Elliot called, pumping in excitement as he hovered halfway across the Pitch. With a sigh, I felt my body unwind. I mean, I just did something good, right? I'm pretty sure that was what I was supposed to do.

And more importantly, it was actually kind of… fun. The adrenaline rush is intense and I kind of… like it.


	21. Do What You Have to Do

_What ravages of spirit conjured this temptuous rage?  
Created you a monster, broken by the rule of love  
And fate has led you through it - you do what you have to do  
And fate has led you through it - you do what you have to do_

You're all going to hate me.

**Fun fact:** Tom is named after another famous Slytherin - Tom Riddle. This is not necessarily because he is evil and is going to try and kill all Muggles, but more because of other similair qualities: being in Slytherin, being the Head Boy, and because they look the same in my mind.

* * *

Wood sighed as he rushed around his office at the Pitch, looking for his official list of fouls for the latest Quidditch games so he could turn them into McGonagall. Already he would be late to go and see Aly, but he couldn't imagine she'd mind. She knew the password for his office, and would probably be taking a cat nap or doodling when he got there.

Smiling triumphantly, the Scot noticed a carefully written bullet point list on the corner of his desk, and he snatched it up, "Yes!" At his exclamation, his owl Nimble woke up, looking at him lazily through one eye. Watching his hand, and making sure he'd have enough treats to satisfy the owl later, Wood carefully tied the parchment to his owl's leg, "Take this straight to McGonagall, aye? Don't stop to eat – I'll have dinner for you tonight."

With a tired hoot, Nimble hopped dutifully onto Wood's arm as he started towards the door. Unperturbed at the dark-hooded figure who was standing at the door, Nimble flew off without so much a glance at the man; Wood, on the other hand, was frozen to the spot.

"Y-yes," he finally managed. He hated how his voice sounded weak, but he was honestly scared. Sure, the Dark Lord had contacted him before, to demand updates, But a personal visit from one of his very own Death Eater? This had the potential to be very serious.

"I'm here on behalf of my Lord," the man replied openly, stepping passed Wood easily and into the cozy office. Wood liked to keep it warm wherever he went, and there was constantly a fire burning in his office, even if he wasn't there. "We have news of the child."

Wood gulped – the child. The child he had been sent here to find. He stood there, torn between fighting and feigning and generally hindering the man's mission, or quickly agree to everything with the proper Proper Nouns so that Aly wouldn't be alone so long.

Sighing, he quickly made a decision, "I didn't know you were expecting, Malfoy."

With a sneer, the young Malfoy turned on him, his wand pulled and pointed at his ex-arch-Quidditch-enemy's throat, "This is no joke, Wood. He wants her, you know."

Wood raised a careful eyebrow, "Hey, aye? He found out something about her.  
"That's what I said, you mangy prat," Malfoy literally spat the words into Wood's chin.

"Well, get on with it," Wood cut in, trying his best not to seem flustered as he moved away from the wand, casually turning and straightening papers on his desk.

"She's a girl."

"Obviously," Wood spat back at his younger superior, smirking to himself as Malfoy breathed in deeply. No doubt the blonde snake was under orders not to harm Wood, lest anyone at the school become suspicious.

"There's more, though. The girl's got an anklet, Wood. Won't come off until she's graduated; Hogwarts uses it to monitor when she transforms. It's got a number on it, too – 011205202001."

"Your mother teach you that one," Wood questioned sarcastically turning from his desk only to be rammed into it by an angry Malfoy gripping robe's lapels.

"Listen here, Bludger boy – our Lord is getting very impatient; he's expecting results and he's expecting results soon. If I were you, I wouldn't be stupid enough to disappoint him."

And with that, Malfoy stormed out of the office in an official huff, leaving Wood to clench and unclench his fits in an attempt to calm himself down. Going after Malfoy wouldn't change the facts – so now he was looking for a girl with an anklet. How hard could that be to find – their ankles are exposed almost daily because of their short skirts. Someone is bound to notice a girl in an anklet. He just had to ask the right person.

With a sigh, Wood grabbed a broom, resolving to fly to his office as opposed to walking; it would help him clear his mind, and he would get there faster. He hadn't planned on this little meeting, and now he was sure that Darling would be wondering why he was late.

Her questions wouldn't be hard to brush off – his owl gave him a hard time sending the letter; it had taken him longer to find the parchment than it had in reality. Something, anything, would do. She trusted him, a fact that killed Wood every time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came a-calling.

With a flick of his wand, Wood's office window opened and Wood ducked in, his feet landing lightly on the stone floor. Aly laid on her back on a loveseat she'd taken to conjuring in his office, not bothering looking up from the book she was reading, "Hey, Broom-face."

Wood shook his head – Aly claimed this was the stage in the relationship where she makes up odd nicknames for him. He'd, of course, never heard of such a thing, but he couldn't ever bring himself to care, especially when he had to think about much more important things.

"Everything okay? You're pretty late, I was getting worried that I had the wrong day, or something," Aly questioned, not looking up at him from her book.

Wood smiled to himself mischievously; today, he didn't feel like writing papers and glancing at Aly over them as they talked. No, today he needed a much bigger distraction from his life. He slowly made her way to the edge of the couch, where her feet were dangling precariously over the arm. "Oh, nothing in particular; couldn't find the memo I needed to send to McGonagall."

Aly absentmindedly 'hmm'ed him, And Wood smiled as he fell to his knees at her feet. This early in the relationship, he was having fun trying all different things, seeing what she responded to. Today, he'd try to be foolishly seductive like the women in the movies before tickling her feet and seeing what it let to.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Wood removed Aly of her right shoe. With a quirked eyebrow, she eyed him over the top of her book before starting to read again. And so he took off the next one, still smiling secretly to himself.

It was when he'd decided to take off her socks that everything went wrong. He felt a sickening bump on her ankle, like there was something there. Carefully, Wood pulled the sock down and off her feet, his breath hitching at what he saw, "A-Aly, what's this?"

Aly's book fell to her lap as Wood carefully read and memorized the first few numbers – 011205. "What's what?" Aly bent up her leg to her face in a way that would be very appealing to Wood, if only he could force his heart to beat. "Oh, shit, the charm's wearing off."

"What is it," Wood questioned again as Aly leaned over to grab her wand out of her bag. Sighing, she muttered a charm before replying.

"I… fuck," she breathed out, obviously trying to word it right.

"Is it a Head Person's thing," Wood questioned hopefully, "So McGonagall can always find you in a crisis?"

"No, no," Aly told him, blushing, "It's… it's because I'm an animagus, Wood. I can turn into a falcon. And it's really important you don't tell anyone – I'm only telling you because I trust you and I know you're on Harry's side, so you won't tell the Dark Lord who I am."

Wood's body froze and refroze at every word she said.

* * *

I yawned into my History of Magic homework, my forehead resting firmly against the parchment that was supposed to be seven inches on the eighth series of giant wars. The subject was particularly dull to me, making the writing difficult, if not painful. I just – giant wars? Why is it always goblin rebellions and giant wars in that class – never something cool or different. Just more names to mix up.

I yawned again, willing my eyes not to close, trying to gather enough information to write another inch on the subject. If I write large enough, that's only three more lines, which is two long sentences. How can I sum up the eighth series of giant wars in two long sentences that aren't exact replicas of the two sentences I just wrote as a conclusion. I just wish I remember what the original four I had were – then I could be done and sleeping.

With a leap and a caw, Oliver's raven dethatched itself from my forlorn bag on the bed and made a lap around my head before settling on my finger, which I was staring out lazily out of one eye. Impossibly, it's mouth stretched to accommodate the note, and with a small pop it was on my bed.

A message from my boyfriend – maybe it can explain why he was acting so weird, lately. Ever since I told him I'm an Animagus, he hasn't even wanted to see me all that much. I'm worried, really; what if he breaks up with me because he thinks I'm a freak? He has to understand – I don't even remember learning to be an Animagus. My mother taught it to me when I was, like, five. For me, it's as natural as being a Metamorphmagus,

With a forced-steady hand, I reached towards the note, very awake and all my senses sharp suddenly. I unfolded the note, which was always folded into eighths, The message was simple – Oliver had never been one to write long, drawn-out letters.

_Come of my office. Immediately._

I was stuck somewhere between stunned and angered at the authoritive tone the letter took on; like he was my master, or something. _He is my professor,_ I reminded myself as I stood, looking down at myself. Blue-plaid flannel pants and a gray wife-beater, also known as my pajamas.

_Oh well, at least it isn't booty shorts and a sports bra,_ I decided as I started out the door and turned immediately to walk through a portrait that led down to the sixth floor Oliver's office. I had a cosmically bad feeling about all this, but I pushed it aside to concentrate on what Oliver could want with me. I decided quickly, of course, that it had better be an apology and to make-up, because otherwise this is a total waste of study-time.

Oliver's office had never been very far from the staircase, his being the last office and the staircase being just at the end of the hall. With a few long strides and hurried breaths, I was there, trying to decide whether to knock of use the emergency password for when the professor loses his keys. Of course, that password doesn't work if someone's already in there…

Suddenly, Oliver opened the door, deep circles under his eyes and looking positively livid, "Get in here." Before I could retaliate, or take a step on my own, Oliver pulled me into the office and slammed the door behind me. I opened my mouth, to rebuke such treatment, when he shoved a paper in my face, "What is this, Darling?"

"Huh," I questioned, trying to grab the paper, which seemed to be the source of all Wood's troubles, and most of mine.

He pulled it out of my reach easily, "It's the results of the Ravenclaw's try-outs; they've found themselves a Beater. How could you not tell me you were trying out?!"

"I… I made it," I questioned; could it really be a miracle? Oliver shoved the paper in my face, and I started to laugh when I saw my name printed there, "Oliver, I made it!"

"How could you not tell me?"

"What," I questioned, halfway to hugging him. How could I not tell him? "It was supposed to be a surprise, Oliver. I wanted to surprise you; I did this for you, for a gift for our one-month anniversary. I thought you'd be happy!"

"You thought I'd be happy," he thundered at me, "Happy that you're now endangering yourself for an entire school to see? Happy that now you'll be spending your time with a bunch of sweaty boys who have an excuse to gawk at you? What is there to be happy about all this?!"

"Wood, is that you, talking? This is Quidditch, **Quidditch.**" I looked up at him to see if my words had any effect, the result being a negative, "You know what? I'll come back when you've cooled off."

I brushed passed him towards the door when he grabbed my arm, "No, no, Darling, wait." I froze, trying to decide if I should blow up at him or let him talk. I ended up not having a choice. "It's, just, well… it's not just this, things have gotten a lot more… complicated."

I turned; I knew this speech. This was the speech I'd given to Tom in my head a thousand times, "Wood?"

"I, well… we need to break up, Aly. I just… I can't risk it anymore."

"Did someone find out," I asked, my brow furrowing. "Did someone threaten you?" Of course my mind immediately shot to Tom.

Wood shook his head, "No, no, no one knows, thank the Lord." Something about the way he said that made me want to cry very, very badly. Thank the Lord? Now he doesn't even want to be known publically with me. "We, just… we've got to break up, Aly. We can't keep doing this."

"Wh… uh, what?" I finally managed as both my hands found the tips of my hair. Gently, in a way that made me nauseous, Wood leaned forward to pull my hands down towards my side.

"Don't do that," he muttered, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Don't do what," I questioned, my voice muffled with the suppression of sobs, "Don't be upset? Don't care? Don't what, Wood? What shouldn't I do, for **your** sake?"

"Aly," Wood started, and that was that infamous straw.

I turned, heading desperately for the door and turning for the portrait that would lead to just outside my room. Oh God, I'm crying. I can feel it – the tears running down my cheeks, my hands running threw my hair and trying to wipe the tears away simultaneously. I could feel it, but at the same time I didn't feel like I was doing it. It felt more like I was being controlled, like this was the Imperious curse, while impossibly I was fully aware of what I was doing.

With two slamming of portraits behind me and one fallen against door, I found myself staring at my room, crumbled against the door and sobbing. That was it – Wood and I had our month and a half relationship, and now we were done. Finite Incatatem. Null in void. Over.

Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick.

_And I have the sense to recognize  
**That I don't know how to let you go**_


	22. Mercy

Time was caught between speeding and dragging after Wood broke up with me, alternating every few hours. I still spent Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays by myself, mourning quietly and continuing to lie to my friends. I mean, just because Wood and I are no longer spending time together doesn't mean I don't need some time away from them. Everything in moderation, right?

It was during one of these moping-sessions that I received a message from an owl that was very, very unfamiliar. At first, I hoped it was Wood's owl, grumpy and with an apology. Who ever thought I'd be this desperately attached to him, after five years of thinking him the evil-incarnate?

It's just… being with him was… it was easier than it should have been. We… we bantered, and we argued, and we made up. There weren't any politics or damage control. There was just… us. Being. It was… well, I miss it, and I should probably be concentrating on the owl.

With an easy flick of my wrist, I opened the window, and the owl flew easily towards my side. Sparrow crouched easily on my lap, deciding to stalk to owl. I'd just gotten the letter untied when my cat jumped, the owl squawking as it made a beeline for the safety of my window.

With a sharp intake of breath, what I'd hoped would be an apology from Wood, or maybe a notice that there was a very unfortunate accident down at the Pitch in the form of an explosion, I saw that it was much more painful… for me.

It was a personal letter of congratulations from Elliot, followed by a reminder that the next practice would be this Saturday, and that our next game would be next Saturday. We were compromising Wood's schedule, and we would have to make up for it with a flurry of games these next few months.

The announcement hit me with a pang, and I tried to figure out why I'd bothered to even open the letter. Letters never mean anything good – they mean Wiggins forgot to assign us our homework or McGonagall needs to have an emergency meeting that will result in me taking on more work or something of the sort.

I should just lock and black out my windows; I can run away whenever someone knocks on my door – cut through the apartment of whoever lives next to me. They'd have to hunt me down to ever contact me; I'd be like a hermit in the middle of Hogwarts. And after I graduate, I can run away to America. They have dragons there, I'm sure.

I think I'm going to have to go and see Elliot, ASAP. I can't join the Quidditch team. How do you tell someone that you can't join the team you tried out for? 'Sorry – I broke up with my boyfriend, and he was the only reason I joined the team in the first place. Oh no, he's not on the team at all. Who is he? Uh, you do know him… probably very well.'

That'll go over great; I just have to go and find Elliot, now. I hope he doesn't have a temper – the quieter, more relaxed ones do, sometimes. Mostly the Quidditch ones; I have experience with that now. Oh God, I should just knit a headband with a little holder for my hands.

* * *

I groaned as I leaned against the wall outside the Ravenclaw common room. I could not, for the life of me, think of the answer to this question. I don't even see how it could relate to the Dark Arts! I mean, what could a Hand of Glory be?

Smiling, a group of third years, whose names escape my memory, tromped up the stairs, and looked at me with a haughty expression. God, I hate third years. They aren't timid and eager like the first and second years, but they've yet to mature enough to know that they don't know everything, even if they're in Ravenclaw, like the rest of the school. They're just… stuck up. And they forget they're place.

"Uh, what are _you_ doing here," one of them, whom I'm pretty sure is Elliot's younger sister, questioned, her hip jutting out at an unhealthy angle. Jeez, looking at these girls, and one boy, you'd think there wasn't a war going on, or anything.

The boy, last name Rosier, stepped forward as I sneered, whispering to the hand as I glared at the baby-Elliot. Or maybe middle-Elliot. Or maybe the second-oldest, who can be sure? "I happen to not know what a Hand of Glory is, _Elliot."_

The girl glared right back, her hit switching sides and hitting the wall, "My name is Ellen Edwards."

"Po-tay-toe, Po-tah-toe," I glared back, equally pissed. This girl has no respect – I should run her through the wall with a blast of slugs. Green slugs, that speak in Parsletongue at her until she cries.

With a familiar _squeak_ that resounded much longer than the door's opening, Rosier walked through the door confidently, and I scoffed as I elbowed my way passed my Quidditch Captain's… not snot-nosed sister. I might have to have a talk with him, Ravenclaw to Ravenclaw, about the impressions ones Third Years make, and how intimidating a tall, slightly-goofy looking Quidditch Captain really is. I mean, none of us could **ever** have been that annoying, right?

No, no, I have to concentrate; I'm here to get myself off this damn Quidditch team, and then back to my room before I see something that makes my knees buckle and my eyes water with that strange sensation of loss.

Luckily, Elliot was sitting on one of the loveseats, his long legs stretched out comfortingly. No sneaking into the boys dorms for me; Elliot is apparently just the tiniest bit studious. Who would've ever guessed that this place would rub off on him? I remember when he just goofed around on the lawn all day and chased around the Newts his friends had let loose from the Care of Magical Creatures pen.

"Hey, Elliot," I called out to him. He looked up at me and smiled, one corner of his lips lifting higher than the ever, resulting in an adorable dimple.

"Hey there, Darling. Did you get my letter?" Politely, he pulled himself into a sitting position, nimbly folding his legs pretzel-style.

I smiled, "Yeah, that's actually why I'm… here." Oh God, he looks so goddamn innocent and… gorgeous. How can I say I don't want to see that daily? "Well, you see, Ellio-"

"Call me Ben – everyone on the team does. I like to thinks it helps them to feel comfortable talking to me about their problems." He blushed slightly, and I melted a little. God, I'm horrible about rebounding. It's only been… two weeks.

"Well, Ben," I restarted, smiling at him awkwardly, _I'm in mourning. Mourning._ "I… I am ecstatic to know that you chose me for a Beater. I'm… honored, really." Nervously, I tucked one leg under my butt, leaving the other to dangle over the edge of the loveseat. In an attempt to seem nonchalant, though, I shoved one hand between my legs and the other gesturing helplessly. "But, well… some things have come up; I just… I don't think I can accept this… prize." God, that sounded more sorry by the second.

Uselessly, my other hand fell into my lap to wring the first one as Ben, reminiscent of another Quidditch Captain I know, started to laugh openly at me. My mouth fell a little, and he finally managed words, "You're joking, right?"

"Well, no," I offered, pausing and looking at him with the definition of pity, "See, it's just… things came up, and there are the N.E.W.T.S. at the end of the year, and I'm Head Girl, and really, that one Bludger I saved Richards from, that was luck. I don't even **look** like a Beater – I'm weak, I don't any real muscle…"

"Darling," Ben questioned, laughing at me a little and laying a hand gently on my upper arm, "Do you really think I'd put you on my team if I didn't think you had talent? Sure, it's a little raw, but you're very… protective, and quick. I figure if I can just harness that instinct you have, that natural ability to fly and swoop and dive, then we could really have a shot at the Cup."

I gulped – the Cup? That's even more time with Wood that I don't want to think about at all. No, no, this Quidditch Team thing won't work at all. "Oh, no, I just… I don't think I could commit myself fully to the… effort. Especially if we're going to go so far as the cup."

Ben sucked in a breath, "Well, Aly-" Inconspicuously, Ben raised his eyes to mine, to make sure calling me by my first name was alright. "-If you say no, I'm afraid Professor Wood won't give us anymore time, especially since I told him we'd be ready by next weekend. And if we don't have a full team, we'll have to forfeit the cup."

I smirked, my personality and desperation immediately responding to the teasing ways of Ben, "Are you threatening me, Mr. Elliot?"

"It's not a threat," he defended, shifting a little to mimic my position as he laughed at me, "It's not a threat, I'm just… making you aware of the consequences."

I laughed at him, "Making me aware of the consequences? The consequence of my entire House running me down with pitchforks?"

Ben and I continued to laugh until we finally calmed down, Ben's hand still on my arm, he finally asked, "Look, just think it over for tonight. And if you still don't want to be on the team, then… let me take you to Hogsmeade Saturday and I'll talk you into it before the practice." He raised an eyebrow suggestively, not leaving me the time to say no, "But don't say no because you think you can't do it, aye?" With a final squeeze of my arm, Ben stood up, snapping his book shut and tucking it underneath his arm, "Because we both know you can."

I let my jaw drop openly at my Quidditch Captain's audacity, "I think this is known as Sexual Harassment in the Muggle world. And the Wizarding world too, for that matter."

Ben didn't respond as he trotted across the Common Room to his dorm, slipping up the stairs. I sighed as I fell back against the couch – it was way too soon for me to be going on a date. I mean, I was serious about Wood… for that month and a half.

And, well, two weeks? That's… a third of the time Wood and I were dating! It took me… well, I guess Tom and I aren't really a good example of how long it takes me to rebound, but still… I mean, I'm still getting over the fact that this Johnny Depp fellow is apparently way too old for me.

But still, if there was any time to get over Oliver Wood, it just might be with… well, newer-age Quidditch Captain, blonde hair, dimpled Ben Elliot. And, I mean... it couldn't physically hurt me, right? If anything, Ben talking me into Quidditch might just help me out. If he can convince me to play, well, it just might help me to get over Wood all the faster.

Besides, if I have to look Wood right in the face, every game, and show him I'm completely over him, and that I can play Quidditch with or without his permission. I mean, wasn't me being on the Quidditch team why we really broke up? And I did have fun, that one time I played. So why should I let Wood ruin that for me? Since when am I the kind of girl that lets herself be controlled by a guy that broke up with her? Never. Ever.

I sighed as I studied the staircase to the boy's dormitory. I wrinkled my nose, my hand carelessly weaving through my hair. Oh yeah, if there is any guy to use to get over Wood, it's Ben. A Ravenclaw, so he's bound to have a brain, relaxed, funny, and gorgeous like that guy in 'Ten Things I Hate About You.'

Mmhmm, I know just what I'm doing this Saturday.


	23. Near to You

Alright, you guys don't even want to know how much fate has been conspiring against me. First, I move to school. Decent enough. Than, as I'm in the middle of writing all my chapters, my trial version of MS Word 2007 ends. It didn't even let me copy it to another notepad. So I was like, "Whatever, download it to and write it on there. Bad spelling can be dealt with if I proof read well.' Too bad I forgot they turn off my internet at 11:30, so that when I went to save it at midnight I lost **everything** I'd done. Not to mention my friends and their drama. I swear, being friends with my friends is a thirty hour a day job, and yet thirty hours don't even exist in a single day.

Hence, fate conspired against me. And I'm very sorry, but I persevered. And I also made you guys a banner.

**Fun fact:** Ben Elliot, like so many people, is based off a real person in my school, and whom is probably the most desirable man I know, and actually looks quite a bit like Heath Ledger. The only difference is instead of being into Quidditch, he's into wrestling.

* * *

I sighed as I looked at myself in the mirror, my eyes trailing lazily over my snowy-weather attire. A cute-ish brown jacket wrapped tightly, a matching belt cinched tightly around my waist. My hair fell limply down over my shoulders, and my legs were adorned in plain jeans.

Really, I should have felt more beautiful. This jacket has been specifically named my 'pretty jacket,' because whenever I wear it I feel inexplicably pretty. But instead, I'm kind of just... indifferent. Hoping for a distraction, I turned my back on the mirror, my hands weaving through my hair as my eyes combed through the room. Really, I just wanted to fly; anywhere, in any way. Preferably not broom, but should I be picky?

I'd like to think this energy, this horror, is because I'm nervous about making a good impression on Ben; it's not though. I mean, some of it is, but I'm more worried about him seeing that somethings wrong, and that I'm not actually all that into it. I was; I swear I was until I woke up this morning. Now I just kind of feel... devoid.

I refuse to believe it, though. I'm ignoring it, and I will beat this. And Ben, well, he's getting a date out of the deal, isn't he? Besides, this isn't as bad as I'm making it out to be; not at all. It's a date, for Merlin's sake! One single date – I bet Wood's had thousands by now.

With a deep breath, I sat on the edge of my bed, resigning to sleep for the next hour before I'm supposed to meet Ben. At least when I'm sleeping I'm not thinking.

* * *

My hands shoved comfortable into my scalp, I smiled hopefully to myself as I pushed out into the corridor. I took the long way out of the Head's Common Room, now. The way no one has used since the two shortcuts were discovered that dumped you right onto the sixth floor. The corridor was dusty, and I occasionally got caught up in spider webs, but that's not what I'm concentrating on right now.

You want to know what I am concentrating on? Walking. It's pretty much taking up all of my attention span, which is how I'm going to account walking straight into some hard, tall, and completely unyielding to my body almost as soon as I hit the seventh floor corridor.

Accordingly, I flew backwards, landing with an embarrassing 'bump,' my hands weaving deeper into my hairs at the sound of a deep, amused laughter. Ben. I looked up, straight into his dimples, and instantly felt the knot in my stomach loosen. I felt like the little engine that could as I bounced back up, nearly loosing my balance as soon as my feet hit the ground unsteadily.

Ben laughed louder as he wrapped a hand carelessly around my waist, his fingers barely scraping the small of my back. My hands shot from my hair, which shook with me, to his stable chest, and I blushed at the action, "Er, hey."

"You alright," he finally questioned, his smile contagious and mixing with my blush. Oh God, I hate blushing. My face feels like it's going to burn off.

I looked up, meaning to be witty and have a retort, but I lost my voice the moment I looked up and realized that I was all of five inches from Ben's face. Oh God, I'm either going to vomit or die. Both unpleasant, though I honestly can see vomiting as being more eternally damaging than dieing.

I pushed away from him, breezing passed him into the hallway, "I can't believe you laughed at that." Wow, could I have any less originality? Please, wit-God, grace me with your presence.

"Whoa, wait up," Ben called a few seconds later, taking a few long steps to rush to my side, "I'm not losing you that quickly."

Something about the way he said it made me not want to talk anymore – he doesn't want to lose me. Like I have the power, or something. Wood used to say that kind of stuff too, until he threw me out the window like an ink bottle. It was like I was... out of ink, or something.

The silence weighed down on Ben more than it weighed down on me; after all, he's the one who made this awkward. Even if I wasn't secretly depressed at losing my secret boyfriend, I wouldn't say anything. This is just me, being me, walking down the hall towards the carriages for Hogsmeade, not the least bit late. Normal.

"You know," Ben offered, scratching the back of his neck to make conversation, "It, uh, well-" Is this how guys who like you really talk to you? Cause I'm not quite sure it's talking as much as experimenting with fun new sounds your mouth can make. He glanced to his side, out a window, where both of us could make out the Pitch, covered in white, "Did you get my owl?"

"What owl," I questioned, my brow arched questioningly. **This,** I might be interested in.

"I canceled practice today, because I didn't think it would be safe for the team to play in these conditions – wet ground for a push-off, and all."

I knew immediately what he was getting at, and played along. "Oh, so you're saying I'm not good enough to jump into the air off of ice, are you?"

Ben laughed, obviously relieved that I seemed to be responding, "I never said you specifically, but yeah. Pretty much."

My jaw dropped, but underneath my 'pretty jacket' my chest was heaving gently with laughter, "Oh, if I owned a broom, you'd be so in for trouble right about now."

"Why do you need to have your own broom? We can go ask Professor Wood to borrow two right now, and you can show me up," Ben offered, obviously thinking the plan brilliant, despite the fact that he had just proposed delivering me to the arms very man I was trying to escape.

"Uh, no," I cried, grabbing Ben's hand as he started to turn back towards the sixth floor. The touch burned, almost pleasantly, and I smiled awkwardly up at him as his eyes shot to the contact, "I, uh, I've been looking forward to going to Hogsmeade all week."

It was in that second, when Ben finally looked up at my face and genuinely smiled, that I remembered how much I really needed this date. It was necessary, especially considering the way all I want to do at this second is grip his hand tighter and try and soak up some of that happiness, to smile like that again. Yeah, yeah, Ben is the right guy to get through this with. Good choice, Darling.

"Well, alright. But not because you want to - I didn't really cancel the practice, I moved it to tomorrow, so you have all next week to show me how good you are." Ben picked up a comfortable pace next to me, not at all worried about making the carriages. Maybe he enchanted one of the carriage to wait for us, knowing my legs are infinitely shorter than his, and that I wasn't intending to rush anywhere. Hell, maybe they already left; we can walk to Hogsmeade, for all I care.

* * *

I laughed into my drink as Ben continued to flail his arms about in mock of Abbot's try-out, "I swear, that boy has no bones! He's like Jello on a broomstick, vaguely molded into the shape of a human." I laughed more outwardly, my pop becoming a serious threat to my nose, which was still a little red from the raw wind blowing outside.

Ben smiled, obviously pleased with himself at the fact that he made me laugh as his story came to a close, and it occurred to me that it was my turn to come up with a topic of conversation. I paused, considering my options; we'd been serious when we discussed family and politics, and goofy with everything else, but this is a date – where is the romantic topic?

"You know, Mr. Elliot," I addressed him, hoping the seem impish and coy as I leaned down to sip my soda again before continuing, "You have a reputation of not being very... enthusiastic about the dating scene. May I ask what prompted this sudden interest?"

Ben snorted, muttering under his breath, "You're such a Ravenclaw."

"Excuse me," I questioned smartly, my hands fiddling in my lap. I wasn't nervous enough to have them in my hair, but at the same time they were antsy. I kept expecting something to happen, for something to click or someone to attack. My whole body was on edge, like I was in serious danger. It's the bird in me, the fight-or-flight reaction trying desperately to take over and fight whoever was sitting behind me.

Ben took a sip of his drink, and I concentrated on his face. Such an... appealing face. Utterly kissable, if only I could push the bird in me far enough into the back of my mind to be into it. "Nothing. Honestly, I've been trying to work up the courage to ask you out for four months, ever since the end of the summer, when I found out your broke up with Worthington."

Wood's words immediately shot through my mind,_ "__Cause I've been thinking about it for four long months, and it isn't going away." _Oliver had approximately one month on Ben, not to mention years more experience, at least ten pound of muscle... and one very big mistake. O... Wood made a big mistake, and Ben just happens to be capitalizing on it. And I'm capitalizing on his capitalizing.

"Wow," I finally sputtered, so Ben didn't start to think he scared me away. He didn't, he just... he answered my question. "That's... flattering."

Ben snorted into his drink, as I had not five minutes ago, "How so?" As his lips pursed towards his cup, I was reminded why he was such a great choice. God, he's beautiful.

"You're a catch, Mr. Elliot," I informed him, straightening my posture so that I might seem serious. I mean, I am serious, but this will turn the conversation away from the romantic tone I accidentally introduced. I'm obviously not ready for romantic yet.

I stopped mid-sentence, my hands immediately finding their home once again in my hair. I quickly forced them out, and they violently shook instead in my lap as the familiar scent washed over at me as he walked by. Why the hell was Wood in Hogsmeade? More importantly, why is he sitting around where I could feel the supposed threat staring at me from, picking at me with his eyes to see what affect he could find, in a dark robe?

As soon as I regained my senses, when Wood's scent was diluted by butter beers and firewhiskey, I was out of my seat. Ben jumped at my suddenness, "I'm a catch?"

What? Oh, yeah, we were talking about something else. Concentrate, Darling; come up with an excuse. "Yeah, yeah you are." I slowly lowered myself back into the chair, and smiled at him, concentrating on the smell of sickly-sweet alcohol, Ben probably doesn't know Wood by scent, and he was wearing a hood. I can use it to my advantage. "Sorry about that – the man who came in; he... scares me." Sure, why not? At least it gives me a reason to leave.

"Wh-" Ben thought better of his question, and instead replaced it, "Do you want to get out of here?" I nodded gratefully. As we stood, Ben glanced down at his watch, whistling, "We still have another hour before the carriages will be back. What are we going to do?"

"We'll find something," I assured him, nearly reaching into his wallet and pulling his money out myself, just to get out of here. The animal in me was screaming, and my own shrill, internal screams were joining it. Of course, Ben insisted at the very beginning of the date that he pay for everything.

I had pulled him out of the door before the money had settled on the table, smiling and stopping short as the cold, sharp air, filled with snowflakes, nearly smacked me in the face.

Ben, in turn, smacked into me from behind, unprepared for the sudden stop, "Whoa."

I blushed, the heat now welcome in my cheeks, as I turned, taking his hand again. Time to be normal, "Sorry."

Ben was obviously confused, but brushed it off, Merlin bless him, "No problem." And with that, we were calmly walking down the street, hands clasped, our bodies slightly angled towards each other. I was trying not to look at him, and instead he questioned me, "So, do you have a thing with Death Eaters, or what?"

My brow arched as I dared to look up at him into his dark brown eyes, "Huh?"

"The guys in there – they were dressed like Death Eaters. I'm not saying they were, but, well, you s-"

"Yeah, Death Eaters, I have a thing about Death Eaters," I gushed, thankful for the excuse. God is, for once, on my side. Thanks, man. "I'm very obviously pro-muggle."

"What's your blood type?"

I snickered to myself as I thought about telling him 'B negative,' but I knew what he meant. "My mom was a pureblood, my dad was a half-blood. So I guess I'm three-quarters."

"A mostly-blood," Ben offered, smiling down at me.

I laughed, almost forgetting Wood back in the Hog's Head, "Yeah, that sounds like me."

A silence ensued, and I looked around. Lamps, full of something that glowed magically, lined the back streets of the quaint town, and the snow here was less disturbed than it was along the main road. Despite the embarrassment it would inevitably cause me, I was overcome with the urge to sing; something slow, deep, and full of melody.

I settled for humming, and I heard Ben start to laugh, "What in the world are you humming?"

My jaw dropped, "You don't know 'Memories?' From 'Cats'?"

Ben's brow furrowed, "Cats have memories?"

"Oh, come on," I offered, "Musical, really great, muggle."

Ben shrugged, "Doesn't ring a bell."

"_Memory,"_ I mostly squawked, and Ben laughed at the sound of my voice, _""All alone in the moonlight._ Aw, come on, nothing?" Ben shook his head, continuing to laugh while I stopped walking, pulling him to face me fully, "You've seriously never heard that?"

Ben continued to laugh at what he assumed was **my** foolishness, but what was actually his parents serious neglect in bringing him up. "Not once in my life."

"Stop laughing and look at me," I stomped my foot, trying hard not to laugh and remember that this was actually a little serious, "I'm going to teach you this damn song! It's an intricate part of our history."

I grasped his chin and started to crank it up, but I lost my grip on it when he slid it forward, pressing his lips gently into mine. It was... different. Something about it felt so close, so familiar, but passed the sensation of lips being pressed against mine this kiss was completely different than what I used to. This kiss was... innocent. Fulfilling, and yet I need more of it.

And so, nearly stupefied out of thinking straight, I wrapped my arms around Ben's neck and pulled him down, closer to my level. I threw my body at him, and he took my hips, obviously surprised by my reaction. He didn't get that I wasn't used to the whole 'high school romance' that he'd been planning on. I was used to more, and apparently I won't be satisfied without it.

Or at least, without a little bit of it.


	24. Let Me Fall

I feel like this one is unnecessarily dramatic, and for that I apologize - it had to happen. Although I do love the line, "Hey, look, a bludger."

* * *

My eyes scanned the horizon as I tried desperately to remember to breathe. My instincts to fly had always driven me here, even though my anklet was beeping that I had flown too far, and I had about twenty minutes to get back to the school grounds. It would only take me ten minutes to get back, and I figured they couldn't yell at me if I was all of a second late.

I took in a deep breathe, my palms laying flat against the rock on the edge of my cliff. I call it my cliff, even if it is technically, you know, just a cliff in the Forbidden Forest. It's not that high – maybe fifty yards, but it's sheer rock wall. Perfect nesting place, if I was a full-time falcon.

I flinched naturally at the sound of the threstrals as they snapped at a bird. I had seen them since I was twelve and watched as some ornately large werewolf tore apart a sparrow while I was in my bird form, and I've never liked those damn bird-horses. They liked to chase birds around for fun, a pastime I'm obviously opposed to.

One of my palms pushed off the stone, almost of it's own accord, and I fought it as it reached for my hair. There's nothing to be nervous about – sure, there happens to be a Quidditch game tomorrow. Sure, it'll be the first time I've ever spent more than five seconds around Wood, and even better it'll be in full view of Ben who, by the way, is still not officially my boyfriend. Nothing about that is nerve-wracking.

My hand trembled as I forced it back down onto the stone, staring out into the full moon. Ben assured me that I'll be better than fine tomorrow – that the Slytherins we're facing are just wusses, and all I need is one good hit at them and I'll have them running. It's the 'one-good-hit' part that I'm worried about. Most specifically, the 'good' and the 'hit.'

I closed my eyes and concentrated again on breathing, which shouldn't be as hard as it is. _Focus on something good, Darling._ Well, things with Ben are going good. He and I are joking and laughing and kissing and he's very much a gentleman. He's, like, perfect. It's crazy. And if he tries to kiss me in front of Wood tomorrow, I might shrivel up and die.

Not that I don't think Wood doesn't already know about me and him – I'm convinced it was him in the Hog's Head last Saturday, and he always made it is his business to know everything about my life. Maybe that's done now, but I'm sure he still hears a few things.

I gulped passed the part where it was done now and concentrated again on Ben. There was no reason that I should be nervous about anything tomorrow – I'll be fine; we might even win. Slytherin's team this year isn't very good; they haven't caught a Snitch yet. I doubt anyone will even be out there to watch.

Oh, who am I kidding? Everyone will be there and I'm going to choke in front of Wood. I mean, my God, we broke up because of this! I don't even know why, but if I do badly tomorrow, it'll... oh my God, I'm forgetting to breathe!

With the faint realization, my body pitched itself forward with the force of my breathing, and I felt weightless. I'd only done this once before...

Alright, so before when I jumped off this cliff I had actually jumped and turned into a falcon immediately; now, I'm panicking a bit. My eyes squeezed shut as my instincts kicked in, my bones squeezing themselves into place painfully fast and my body swooping forward as I pulled my beak out of the nose dive.

I skimmed against the forest floor dangerously for a seconds before my body crashed to the ground, admittedly much slower than it would have had I been human. I felt a few feathers pull out of place, the skin under it becoming red and irritated at the friction of dirt against bare skin.

My head rang, and I let my eyes flutter for a second. Some dirt had gotten in them, but I didn't think I had broken anything. Careful, I hopped onto my back feet, digging my talons into the dirt and glancing around, amazed as always at the sharp clarity with which I saw everything. The threstrals I had heard earlier were attracted to the commotion, cutting my recovery time sickeningly short. I could only imagine their hooves coming into contact with my skull, easily crushing it if they wanted to.

I spread my wings, concentrating on the flight as I pushed forward, trying to feel for wind currents or thermals of warm air to ride back to Hogwarts. Of course, I felt nothing, and resigned to flapping desperately to make it back to my window before anyone would be coming for me.

* * *

I dug my nails carefully into the handle of my broomstick as I watched Wood, Ben, and whoever the Slytherin captain was talk in the middle of the field, biting my lip and somehow expecting a fight to break out. Like Wood cared enough to smell me on Ben, and then everything would be ruined. Cause I like Ben, really. I certainly don't want Wood to beat him up.

The thought that Ben would win didn't even occur to me – sure, Ben was taller, but Wood was stronger. Wood was a keeper, built to stop balls flying at his face; Ben was a chaser, perfectly built for leaning forward and speeding through the air. Completely different body type. It's just common sense that Wood would win. I don't have a preference. Oh, wait, yeah, I do... for **Ben,** guys.

There were three nods of agreement, and Ben quickly turn and sprung back to our team, his brow furrowed. I hurried forward to meet him, a little scared that Wood had told Ben our secret in some strange revenge, even though Wood doesn't care.

I caught him gently by the arm, shocking him into looking up at me, "What's wrong?"

Ben shook his head a moment after I asked the question, as if shaking off the thought, "Nothing, Professor Wood's just being... weird."

My chest became its usual vacuum cleaner, a feeling I did distinctly not miss, "What'd he say?"

"He doesn't want you to play – says he thinks you'll get hurt."

I grit my teeth, feigning innocence the best I knew, "Does he usually give you advice on the team?"

Ben shook his head, his blond hair slapping gently against his forehead, "No, never. I wouldn't think he cares."

I shrugged, trying to be dismissive, "Probably just wants to make sure we kick Slytherin's ass – you know, him being an ex-Gryffindor and all."

Ben nodded, glancing over his shoulder at Wood, who was carrying the various boxes of balls towards the center of the field, "I _guess_ that makes sense."

"Hey, I never said that guy makes sense. I don't think any of Quidditch makes sense, honestly," I joked, smirking up at him. Ben pivoted towards me, his jaw dropped in obvious shock. Note to self: don't joke about not knowing Quidditch with your Quidditch captain just before your first game. He attempted to stutter a response, but I saved him the embarrassment, "I'm joking, Ben. I know everything I could possibly need to know about playing Quidditch." I absentmindedly twisted my finger into my hair, trying to seem nonchalant, "Did Wood say anything else?"

"He didn't say that you **couldn't** play," Ben responded, obviously thinking that's what I meant, groaning when he looked up and saw my face?

My expression fell, wondering what he'd seen, "What?"

Ben's hand shot out, and I felt my heart skip and my body tense as Ben shoved his own hand into my hair, drawing my hand out of the knots they were tying, "You make me nervous when you do that."

My jaw dropped at the sudden... intimacy of the moment. I was speechless, and my heart was beating in what was either pain or anticipation. Wood's face flashed before my eyes involuntarily, but was quickly replaced by Ben's lips moving in to catch my own.

Of course, Wood blew the whistle at that time, and my head snapped his direction. I was horrified to find him staring back at me with his hard, brown eyes, so contradictory to the man I'd dated what felt like forever ago. I couldn't tell what made him so angry, but I didn't dare think he'd seen what me and Ben were going to do. He had to know.

Lining up with the rest of the team, everyone leapt simultaneously into the air, brooms holding us still in the air as Wood rose slowly after us, his eyes still hard as he glanced around, scrutinizing, "I want a clean match from everyone of you."

He glanced especially at the Slytherin Beaters, who were two terrified Third year twins, before continuing to study everyone in the circle. It was hard to look him in the eye, but his gaze drifted passed me uninterestedly. Good, because I plan on showing him I'm strong, even if it kills me. And showing him I'm strong is easier if he's not looking at me.

Wood didn't say anything else, but threw the Quaffle into the air, diving out of the way as the Chasers sped forward, Bry grabbing it out of the air and weaving through the air easily. And with that, the game began.

I let my eyes glaze over, like they did in practice, and waited for a streak of black to catch my attention. A streak of black, unfamiliar, crossed my path, and it registered that it was Wood. He paused, just in the line of my vision, and I fought the urge to look at him. It was... harder than I'd imagined it would be. But it..

Hey, look, a bludger.

I leaned into my broom, willing it forward and continuing to grip it with my nails. I reached my bat up towards the ball, wheeling it around my head and throwing my weight into it, sending the ball flying harmlessly towards a stand. Oh, right, aiming. My bad. At least I didn't hit Ben in the face.

"Thanks," Lees, a sixth year Chaser, smiled at me before she flew away, attempting to knock the ball out of the Slytherin Chaser's arms. I nodded at her before looking around for my counterpart, one George Isaacs, the only other seventh year on our team.

I sighed in relief when I made out his large, hulking figure at the opposite end of the field, which was most definitely the busy side. I should probably go help him out, but I get the feeling he wouldn't see me and he'd run me over trying to get to the Bludger. Best to let him do his thing.

And so I hovered there for a second, watching as the team looped and ducked in time with each other, feeling like what I was watching was more art than sport. It's, like, a complete one-eighty from what I used to think, but I feel strangely at peace, especially when I look at Ben and ignore Wood.

"Hello, Darling." Speak of the devil.

"Hello, Wood," I said, trying to match his coldness. Like we didn't, you know, date.

"I just couldn't help but notice your arms."

I didn't dare look over at him, and was thankful for the excuse to look down at my arms, which were just exposed between my robes and my elbow/wrist guards. What was exposed, though, included places from where I'd gotten scratched up last night after falling off the cliff. Heh, how many people can say _that_ honestly and be out playing Quidditch the next night?

"I fell," I explained, glancing back towards the game. My eyes squinted, but they just couldn't seem to focus on the Bludger as it bounced between Isaacs and the Slytherin Beaters. I should be helping. But I'm not going to run away with my tail feathers between my legs; oh no.

"Maybe you shouldn't be playing, then; might make it easier... for both of us," he muttered the last part, and my mind blanked. I looked over at him, my mouth gaping. Was Wood... sorry?

Of course, at that moment, Isaacs issued a very thoughtful, "Heads up!" My attention turned immediately, even if my mind still reeling with the possibilities.

A Bludger was soaring picturesquely towards my head, no doubt a gift from our friends the Slytherins. I wound my arm back, my eyes wide and my body acting of it's own mindless accord. I didn't think about anything as my bat came into it's violent contact with the iron, my arms straining against the pressure of having to redirect it.

Wood ducked under the swing of my bat and Bludger, and I was about to apologize for not paying attention when he lost his balance, the broom slipping from between his legs and his scream echoing and blending with the screams of the school as our Seeker, who is suddenly nameless to me, caught the Snitch and won us the game.

I felt a familiar arm quickly wrap around my waist, nearly pulling me from my broom in an attempt to kiss me. But I felt sick, and screamed into Ben's mouth. He thought I was screaming in excitement, until I pushed him off and he realized that I was screaming, 'Wood.'

I fell into nearly vertical dive, trusting my instincts to pull me out of the dive at the perfect moment. I landed clumsily next to Wood, who was barely conscious. I shook his shoulders desperately as the Pitch fell silent. I was mindful of what I was screaming. I knew he would be alright – Madame Pomfrey is a god sent.

"Professor?! PROFESSOR?!"


	25. Dear Angel

**Fun fact:** The colors Aly saw in the very first part of the story, her first dream (back in the dream) actually have a lot of meaning; they all stand for things that will happen in the story (losely, mind you.)

* * *

Wood was in the professor's area of the Hospital Wing for about three hours before Madame Pomfrey told him he was allowed to go. He left with a mild concussion and a potion to take for the next day with meals. I was in the Hospital Wing for five hours because I became hysterical when someone told me that I'd given Wood a concussion. I left with a splitting headache and a very stern look from Madame Pomfrey for taking up one of her beds.

It was what happened in those two hours that shocked me. Sure, I was out like a light because the newest nurse in training, horrified at the idea of a hysterical Head Girl rampaging around the hallways handing out detentions like it would save her from the wood nymphs, cast an intense stupifying charm on me, to the point that I fainted and didn't come to until two hours after Wood was given permission to leave.

But... he didn't leave. When I woke up, he was sitting right next to Ben, under the pretense that he wanted to make sure I knew he was alright. I wished I could say I knew better – everything happened so fast in the Pitch that I couldn't be sure I'd actually heard Wood right.

When I woke up, I was shocked to see both my visitors. Ben was sitting casually, as was his nature; his back was arched, one ankle resting casually on the opposite knee as he played with his tongue and his cheek. His curly hair played with the sunlight, almost twinkling in it's sunny brilliance.

Nothing about Wood played, though – he was hunched over, elbows placed firmly on his knees and his face smacked between his palms as he kept his eyes glued carefully to my feet. He was sitting further from me than Ben, but he'd scooted his seat closer to my bed and out of the light shining in from the window. His face was full of jagged shadows that almost looked like battle scars, and his face was... pensive. Worrying. Nothing like Ben's carefree expression.

Neither of them realized I was awake until I jumped at the sight of Wood, surprised by the fact that he was sitting next to me. It almost seemed like a horribly cruel dream in technicolor – the kind that make you believe they're real, and you wake up disappointed.

Wood cleared his throat as our eyes met, "Miss Darling; one hell of a swing, you've got."

I smiled shakily, pushing myself into a sitting position and pressing my back against the wall, wanting to run my hands through my hair but knowing better. Like when Ben had asked me out, I settled for wringing my hands in my lap and flipping my hair every so often, "Thanks."

"You're one hell of a Beater, Darling; I'm sorry I'd ever doubted you." There was a moment of silence when Wood looked at me with a meaning, and my breath hitched. The heart started to beat more quickly, and the suctioning in my chest started.

Ben, completely unaware, ruined the moment epically, "And to think you said she shouldn't play, Professor Wood." Ben clapped Wood on the back, knocking his eyes out of contact with mine, and I quickly inhaled, before I forgot how as Ben, "You said she'd be the one to get hurt. Shows how much you know, huh?"

Wood and I both took a second to respond to Ben's loud, almost bountiful laugh. I giggled weakly, but Wood just nodded, "Shows how much I know."

And with that, Wood stood, turned on his heel, and left. It was... brisk, and I knew I shouldn't be interested, but I couldn't help it as I watched him walk out the door. I just had to know.

"How long was he sitting here with you?" I glanced at Ben, trying to seem inconspicuous and curious. Like I don't have personal stock in the answer. Like I haven't totally fallen for the guy who taught me how to fly.

"About two hours, since Pomfrey said he was free to go. Said he wanted to make sure you were alright, and let you know he was fine too. Strange, but I guess that's just the kind of guy he is, right?"

I let my eyes trail to the door, now very much closed without so much as a hint of Wood having been there. "Yeah, yeah, that's just the kind of guy he is."

And in that moment, everything became as clear as crystal; I didn't care about Ben. Even as he went on about the game, and tidbits of stories he had heard about the after party, I really didn't care. And I knew if it was Wood, Oliver, talking to me, he'd have my undivided attention.

The honest to Merlin truth was that I didn't love Ben; I barely even liked him. Sure, he was a nice guy, and I could see myself hanging out with him, but.. he wasn't Wood. He'd never told me he _craved_ me, of all things. He hadn't taught me to fly or put up my hair for me because I was too scared to take my hands off the broom handle. He hadn't flown through a blizzard just to give me a pin, and then sat through my father and I reading through 'T'was Night Before Christmas' twelve times. Ben just taught me how to take out my anger at my ex-boyfriend on a Bludger.

The honest to Merlin truth is that I'm the tiniest bit **in love** with Oliver Wood. And I'm not going to dwell on my commitment issues, which will just have to dealt with later, because it's a little freeing to know that you actually love someone.

"Uh, Ben," I interupted, completely intending to be rude about this, "No offense, but this just isn't working."

Ben's brow furrowed, and his head cocked to the side, "Huh?"

"This, us," I gestured between us helplessly as the reality of the situation quickly weighed down on me; I really hate breaking up with people. As Tom is an example of, it usually doesn't... end well. "I... I gave it a chance, but I'm still kind of hung up on someone else..."

I trailed off, and Ben attempted vainly to fill in the blank, "Tom?"

I shook my head, "You don't know him. I met him this summer. I, I just..."

And much in the same way Wood had not five minutes ago, Ben stood, turned on his heel, and walked out of my life. I'll send him a note saying that I'm quitting the team, if I decide to. It could be fun – having an excuse to be with Wood in public every now and then.

A blush rose to my cheeks as I realized that I didn't care about breaking up with Ben at all, even when he slammed the door to the Hospital Wing childishly. Because the truth was still hitting me, shoving away the nasty feelings of guilt. I was doing him a favor anyway, right?

Besides, that doesn't matter. **I love Oliver Wood.**

I blushed, my hands running into my hair as I turned and shoved my face into my pillow. I wanted to _scream_ it; I wanted to run around and tell everyone who was willing to listen; I wanted to rub it in all the Woodies' faces, and only care a little when they cried.

Instead of screaming words, I screamed gibberish into my pillow that I pretended meant, "I love Oliver," in some ancient, magical language. Of course, as I screamed the words aloud, they became real, and then I realized that everything was all wrong with them.

Mostly because I was certain that Wood didn't love me back; he didn't even want me anymore.

And the most convincing theory I've ever heard rammed itself into my head at that moment – when Wood said it would be easier for both of us at the Pitch, he meant it was awkward for him to see me pining over him. I'm not an especially good actress, I doubt I hid it well.

And with that, my heart sunk, my head following it as I shoved my face further into the Hospital Wing's pillow. He didn't care about me at all anymore. No more than he did for any of the other players.

So now I'm back to step one – no boyfriend, wanting Wood back more than anything else. Great. Now if I just shove my wand in my eye my day can be complete.

* * *

Wood's POV

* * *

I fell against my office door as I closed it, slightly annoyed with myself as I pressed my back painfully into the hard wood. I'm... absolutely nutters. She would know I was alright based on word of mouth alone. And to tell her she was good at Quidditch – do I want her to keep playing? No. It was hard enough, imagining all the ways she could get hurt, all the ways she would fall off her broom. And I'd be responsible – I taught her to ride; I couldn't make her stop.

Not to mention it would kill me to see her, week in and week out, with that... boy. I didn't want to think is name, even if I knew it. I knew all the Quidditch captians, a necessity of the job. But it's hard enough for me to admit he was a person. I knew Aly was hurting – she moved differently. She was quieter with her friends.

I'm not egotistical enough to think it's because of me, but I can hope. I just want to know I'm not alone in all this; it's easier for me to live with this heavy burden if I know she's right there with me, only without me. It makes it more pointless, but then easier. Frustrating, and yet calming.

My eyes closed of their own accord, and I could almost smell her on me. It was my imaginings, I'm sure – even if that was the closest we'd been in what felt like so long, I still hadn't been close enough to be able to smell her on me a few minutes later.

_She was hysterical when she thought I was hurt._

I groaned again, falling to the floor in front of my door and banging my head backwards to try and knock myself out, as stupid an idea as that might be due to my most recent Quidditch injury. Really, all of this is just plain ridiculous. I must have lost my mind – who cares at all about some silly seventeen year old girl? She's beneath me, really.

And somehow I know that isn't true – Aly is everything I wish I could be. She's strong and she's smart and she's standing against Voldemort, even if it might bring about her death, or the death of someone she loves. She's got convictions, and I'm just a big coward.

A breeze blew through the office through the window I'd left cracked open, and it blew around a few pages of the book on my desk, and my heart stopped for a brief second. I'd forgotten that I'd been reading before the Quidditch game. The best poems and sayings of William Blake, hand chosen and written by one Aletta Darling. She even doodled a little cover for me. She claimed any man who liked her had to like William Blake – they were a packaged deal.

I should've burned the book already; it's not like it brings about anything I want. It just reminds me of her in every conceivable way. I love the book, like I love her.

I swallowed thickly, careful not to think her name. Love and her name shouldn't be in the same sentence; it's just too... hard. To think of me loving her, and to know that I was sent here to recruit her to the one cause she despises – to know I'm a part of what she despises. I don't think she loves me, and for that I'm grateful; I'm not one bit of good for her. I had to break things off before she got too serious. I'm serious enough for the both of us.


	26. Set Fire to the Third Bar

You guys don't even want to know about the passed few weeks I've been having. It's all soap-opera dramatic in addition to a lot of physical pain. Sorry this is so late.

* * *

I was... pissed off. In that exponential kind of way that always seemed to inhibit my judgement and was often related to men. I just... it was driving me a little crazy, not knowing what Wood said in the Pitch. See, in usual-Wood manner, he'd have owled me saying it was all a mistake, or clarifying for my sanity's sake cause he knows me well enough to realize I'd be going crazy to trying to figure it out.

And guess what? One whole day and nothing. And I'm not going through **one day** of school not knowing what I heard, and whether or not my breaking up with Ben was in total vain. If it was in total vain, I might kill that boy.

Currently, I was stomping up the stairs from the Great Hall towards Wood's office, which I'm assuming he was headed to when he sauntered by out of the damned Great Hall five minutes ago without even looking at me. And that's just... it's not right.

Have you guys ever gotten that feeling that something is very, very wrong? Like – you're going to fall into a steep dive and you can just tell that a bird is going to run into you from the backside, but you know you can't do anything to stop it, so you just brace yourself and wait for the impact.

Alright, so maybe that example was a little me-specific, but you all get my meaning. Something bad is going to happen, and I can't stop it, but I'm going to work desperately to stop it. I'm fighting fate with a vengence; it's screwed me over too many times.

Ironically enough, it never occurred to me that I should stop and think about what I was doing – to me, this was all very logical. I am naturally rebellious and I fight against what I don't like; I think something is going to happen that I don't like, and I therefore fight it. What's illogical about anything I just said, hmm? Challenge me – I dare you.

My footsteps were lonely as they marched up the stairs to Wood's office, the sixth floor. I groaned as the stairs started to shift under me, ultimately slowly my process, like the cosmos wants me to stop and think about what I'm doing, or something. But I won't – thinking may be my strong poing, but Merlin damn it all I've got a mission. Why would I want to question that?

Wood's door came up on me fast once I actually found my way through the maze of stairs; and it was in that final second, as I stood in front of his door with one fist raised precariously that I considered what I was doing – barging headlong into Wood's office without any sense of what I want to come of this, whether or not I want is actually feasible, and most importantly what Wood's reaction would be. In that one cursed moment, I started to _think._

Unless what I want is for him to think I'm a nutter, than I'm going about this all the wrong way. Do I want to seem coy? What do I even want after all this? Do I want to get back with Wood? Or do I want him to stay away from me, so I can get over him in peace? I mean, it hurt so much when he broke up with me, do I want to risk it again? Do I want to tell him...

Well, that's just a no. I can't say that yet. It's... crazy. I'm not even sure about it yet, not really. I haven't thought anything through. Maybe I should just come back tomor-

"Darling?" Well, that plan's gone down the shitter. Here I am, caught with one hand raised in a position that screams, 'I'm going to knock!'

"Wood?" The name escaped my lips, even if the only plan I could come up with was to run very, very, **very** fast in the opposite direction. Of coures, that direction would take me into a wall, but that is so against my case I'm ignoring it. "What... what are you doing here? You left the Great Hall, like, ten minutes ago." Damn it, Darling! Don't admit you noticed! You should **never** notice!

"I, uh, had to run down to grab something from the Pitch," Wood replied uncertainly, holding up a few folders as proof, "What are... you doing?"

"Polishing doors," was the first thing that came out of my mouth. I winced at the sound of it – like it wasn't obvious enough that I was lying; I mine as well run my hands through my hair and shift from foot to foot like I have to pee. "Unknown Head Girl duty – we keep the castle clean."

Wood's eyebrow arched at me, "You were cleaning my door?"

I nodded, "Yeah. I got assigned sixth floor this week. Crazy coincidence that you caught me, huh?" I don't know why I even bother. Maybe I can shove my head into the floor like an ostrich.

Wood's eyebrow arched impossibly higher for a second before it wedged itself back into place atop his brow, almost into a dark scowl. I flinched, and I knew he knew I was lying. His voice was strained when he finally managed to speak, and I'd spent the entire time pretending I was still allowed to fall into his eyes.

"Do you... want to come in?" Oh God. I made a mistake – _this_ is the time that I'm supposed to run away into a wall. My bad.

"Uh, sure."

GOD DAMN IT!

Wood smiled uncertainly for a second, so that it just flickered on his face, before he stepped uncomfortably in front of me, quickly unlocking the door and leaving it open. I wish I could say it specifically reminded me of something romantic, but the truth is it didn't really. Sure, it was almost in this same exact way that we'd gotten together once before, but the liklihood of it happening again made the memory painful, and so I blocked it.

Feeling comfortable in his office, a result of much too much time spent in here in... previous activites... and my hands wrapped themselves quickly into my hair. I wrinkled my nose as my fingernails dug into my scalp, as if to say they too were finally home and would never leave, but I ignored the slight pain.

I gulped as Wood sat behind his desk, like I was supposed to start the conversation. I still don't know what I want! I'm on a mission with no objective, which I'm pretty sure is a contractiction. If I keep this up, my head is going to hurt.

"So," I started, trying to stall and yet not seem awkward. I, of course, forgot the cardinal rule that saying 'so' and then being quiet automatically makes things awkward. "How's... your head?"

Oh, that could be a good cover up. Good job, brain. "Darling, if you've come up here to apologize, a note would have sufficed." That was...

"That was unnecessary, Wood," I narrowed my eyes at him, "I guess I'll just go back to the room. I'll cle-"

"Aly, hold on," Wood, Oliver, flinched as he stood up, his hand reaching towards me slightly, "Just... hold on. I have some things I want to... clear up."

I froze, halfway through turning towards the door and grateful for the fact that he'd cut me off – if I'd actually said 'clean your door later,' which is what I was planning on saying, I might have to perform some serious self-harm on my brain.

Wood's brow furrowed as he almost glared at me, and I shrunk away from him as if I'd done something wrong, even though I'm pretty sure I hadn't. Except for, you know, lying to him. But it's not like I made it some complex riddle that could get anyone in trouble or was even that hard to figure out – I said I was cleaning doors, for Merlin's sake.

I sighed, making the same kind of deicion that got me here in the first place, a bad one. I dove straight into the heart of what I thought the matter was, "Look, Wood, I get it, this is awkward, you're moving on. I'm sorry I stopped by, it was stupid, I just wanted to know how it was so... easy for you."

"Aly," Oliver's eyebrow quirked a little, his eyes narrowing in what wasn't anger, to my comfort, "You... I didn't want to, Aly."

"Oh yeah," I challenged, my inner-rage-demon rearing it's head and forcing me to turn and confront him, "Then why? Did someone find out about us?"

"No," Oliver admitted, his head falling into his chest as he stood awkwardly behind the desk, shifting his weight from foot to foot, "I... I can't tell you why."

I scoffed, something in me unnaturally sure that he wasn't being honest, "Stop lying, Wood."

"Can't you tell," Oliver questioned, his eyes rising quickly to lock with mine as his weight evened out on the balls of his feet, "Do you... really not see it?"

I could feel the anger bubbling, but the curiosity beat my brain to a response, "Not see what?" The anger quickly followed, and I crossed one arm over my chest while the other ran through my hair, _"Wood."_ Wow I make myself sad.

"That this isn't easy, Aly; not for me, and apparently not for you." A blush rose to my cheeks, but I just shook my head again.

"Really, Wood, I get i-"

"Aly, stop it," Oliver's voice was commanding, but I still couldn't believe him.

I mean, he's a Quidditch hotshot; he's the one who broke up with me, for Merlin's bloody sake. And besides, he didn't love me. He couldn't love me and then break up with me. He had no idea what I was going through, what I am going through, and I don't appreciate his attempt at proving he does.

"Aly, come on, you can't really believe that after however many months of letting you drive me crazy that it wouldn't hurt to not have you there anymore." Well, he's still great at shoving his foot into his mouth. "I still remember the first time I saw you."

The words stung – he'd tried to tell me about this when we'd originally gotten together, just after Thanksgiving. We'd have been together about two months now if he hadn't been, well, if we'd worked out.

Oliver smiled briefly, "You were eating ice cream in Diagon Alley with some bloke and you were aboslotely filthy from the chocolate and I stood there and watched you laughing for a full ten minutes and all I could really think about was your smile."

My glare faltered, and my hand continued to run through my hair, and I wasn't sure whether or not I was flattered or I thought it was a lie. I remembered what he was talking about – the day I'd gone to be fitted for my Head Girl's robe. The boy was Jay, and I'd bet him about some owl we saw in a shop and lost so I had to buy the ice cream. But does it really prove anything?

My anger acted for me, bringing both arms to cross my chest instead of just the one, "Oliver, if you're going to lie to me, I'm just going to leave." To accentuate my point, I turned on my heel and started defiantly for the door. Lord knows what will happen once I get there, but I'm hoping a dragon will come and kill him somehow or other.

"Al-" My name was cut short by the stomping of Oliver's feet hitting the ground with amazing speed. I was almost tempted to turn, but before I even had my hand on the doorknob I'd been spun to face Wood.

And in some sick life circle, I felt my back crash into the door. Oliver breathed heavily over me, as if he'd run a mile to get to this point as opposed to jumping his desk. Behind his back, I could just barely make out papers flitting to the ground and a few quills which he'd knocked off.

"How come you don't get it," Oliver questioned, his voice breathy and making my stomach squirm. His arms were locked on either side of my head, but he somehow still managed to have his feet all of a few inches from mine. "I only did it for you, Aly. I'm not a good person."

"Oh, right, whatever, Wood," I spat back, gulping at the distance. Is it really necessary to be this close to me? "Let me leave." Freaking prat.

And at that moment, my heart stopped because Oliver, _Oliver,_ shook his head. He refused to look me in the eye, but his voice was almost pained, "I... I don't think I can. Not until you understand. I miss you, Aly."

And in that moment, when Oliver looked up at me with those deep, clear brown eyes, I really did understand. Whether or not he loved me didn't mean he didn't miss me, that this didn't hurt him. And it does hurt him, really, truly.

_But that's stupid,_ I reasoned, _We both want this to happen, so what's keeping us apart?_ More than ever, I understood why Oliver had wanted this so badly in the first place; I didn't care about whatever it was he thought made him too bad a person for me, because I knew it didn't matter. It didn't matter that this would get me kicked out of school, or that it would probably end in heartache. Because Merlin damn it, damn it all, I want this.

As if Oliver could read my mind, he suddenly leaned in closer to me, resting his forehead against mine. Slowly, almost painfully, he reached his lips forward, barely brushing them against mine.

"It's just so hard, Aly. I wish I could tell you h-"

"Shut up, Oliver," I finally managed, feeling like my heart would either explode or break. "Just let me go or take me back."

For a second, my heart actually broke. Oliver pulled his one arm uncertainly from the door, pulling his face away. His jaw dropped, his breathing all but audible as his eyes attempted to register what I said. But I ignored that look of semi-shock, figuring he'd turned me away.

And so, feeling like a love-sick fool, I turned away from him. It was when his arm caught me roughly around the waist and pushed me back into the door that I felt my heart piece itself back together just in time for it to explode when Oliver kissed me. It felt like... home. Not home exactly, but like it was just where I supposed to be at that moment. You know?


	27. Happy

I sighed as I sat at the Hufflepuff table, completely ignoring what Siren was talking about. Penny, Willow, and Susan were nodding along animatedly, along with some sixth year who Siren knew from the… oh, I don't remember. I just fail as a Ravenclaw.

It's… awkward when I have to sit at the Ravenclaw table. Everyone looks at me like a freak because I just broke up with Ben Elliot, sex-god extraordinaire with a brain… and I honestly don't care. Yeah, I don't like to sit next to him, and yeah, I don't really look at him. But I'm not actually… sad. I just kind of don't want to be near him.

What I want is to go sit with Wood, but that is out of the question in every way. I… no. No. Never. Not until… ten years out of Hogwarts. Then it looks like we met on the… something and got together without any connection to the time we spent at Hogwarts. I'll act surprised when he tells me he's the flying teacher.

_Oh God,_ my stomach squelched at the idea of being with him in ten years. I love him, sure. And he doesn't know, which so far is working out just fine, but ten years? That's… more than half the time I've been alive! I feel sick. Intensely.

"Aly, did you hear that," Siren asked, her eyebrows lost somewhere under her bangs. _Oh, shit,_ I thought to myself, realizing that while I was simultaneously fantasizing and getting sick about Wood, everyone started to look at me. Something is… centered around me; I'm supposed to be reacting.

"Run that by me again," I covered, running a hand quickly through my hair. Good thing none of my friends know that's my nervous-habit, which would of course mean I'm lying. No, they all turned simultaneously to Siren with wide eyes.

"The guy I've been… nearly getting with all year," she paused, her jaw dropping a little and nodding along, like that somehow made it easier for me to understand. _I'm the Ravenclaw; you're the Hufflepuff._ The thought was cruel, but I have a thing about being treated like I'm four years old. "Is Tom."

My eyes widened, my mind spinning around the name like… like I didn't know it, or something. Like there was more than one Tom that it could possibly be. Like she wasn't talking about my psycho ex-boyfriend. Like, like…

"What?!" **Know** I understand why they all thought I was going to react! Because I'm going to freak out a little! I mean, my God, I dated him for two years! And… and… he's a psycho! I know! H…

He wants to get me back.

I felt my body physically deflate, the breath being forced out of my body by the realization. He… he knows how protective I am of her; he knows it will kill me to know he's using here. He knows I-

"Did something happen?" Oh God, did he get her pregnant? Is he planning on getting her pregnant? Oh Merlin, please, tell me he's not actually going to go through with this. He… he wouldn't go that low. I wouldn't date anyone who is that low.

"No, no, I just… think it finally will, and I wanted you guys to find out from me and not… someone else." Oh, I'm going to be sick. I can actually feel the vomit forcing its way up my throat. It's… disgusting. I need help. My God, this isn't happening. My brain isn't actually registering all this as happening. It's just… he wouldn't do this.

_Maybe he really likes her,_ I figured, _I mean, he might not have liked Siren very much when we were dating, but, well, he… he can change! He's not a stubborn ass – just a regular ass! He could very well like Siren._

As un-best-friend as this is, I knew I was lying to myself. Tom absolutely could not **stand** to be alone with Siren, and now he's head over heels for her? No, no, he knows how protective I am about her, how intent I am that she doesn't have the same problems I had with any guy. And now he's just making me sit and watch, cause he probably knows I never told her about his threat.

"I…" I smiled reflexively, and Siren squealed and dove across the table, knocking over an empty pitcher of pumpkin juice that luckily had yet to be refilled.

"Oh, Aly, thank you! I like him so much! I know you and him have a history, but I just… ohmyGOD!" My eyes bulged as Siren continued to cry into my ear, leaving me no time to talk.

I sighed, biting my lip. Maybe it would be better this way – maybe if he sees I'm not affected, he'll either realize he actually likes her, which is a plus, or he'll break up with her and I can deal with the heart break all the faster. We can both get over it and I can breathe easy, or even actually breathe, knowing that it would all be alright.

* * *

This so-called 'breathing' was sporadic as I paced around Oliver's office later that night. I just… I couldn't stay still, and I knew that whenever I decided to go back to my Common Room that there would be Siren and Tom, and I'd just… I'd kill him. I'd kill him for what he's doing to Siren, and what he's doing to my nerves. I'd kill him for the hell of it, at this point, just so I don't feel so paranoid. I guess that's still for my nerves, though.

Oliver was sitting at his desk, writing a letter or something. He's chewing on his quill, which is a little disgusting because I think he's getting pieces of feather in his mouth, but really I don't care. For all I know Siren is dead right now and Tom is laughing maniacally.

"How can you not care about any of this," I finally almost-screamed at my boyfriend, who looked up at me with that every popular 'huh' face that should belong _only_ in cartoon shows.

"Not care about any of what?"

"That my boyfriend just killed my best friend!" I probably should have thought that one through a bit more.

Oliver was out of his seat and tripping over the cracks in the stone as he tried to get around the desk, "What did I do?!"

I flinched; really should have thought that one through, "My _ex-_boyfriend, and Siren. She thinks he's going to ask her to go steady!"

Oliver sighed as he finally slipped around the desk, leaning back onto it, "And how does that translate into murder?"

"He's doing it to get back at me!"

"What? Where in the world did you get that idea?"

"Uh, hello, he wants revenge on me for cheating on him!"

"Sometimes I want to be in your head and figure out just what goes on, but I'm honestly scared," Oliver replied, half-laughing.

I groaned, falling back onto the loveseat I'd come to know so well, "Nooo, God, you're supposed to know all this!"

Oliver laughed openly, "But I don't, so explain this to me."

I pouted, "I broke up with Tom over the summer and he told me at the beginning of the year that he was going to get me back and he's been raving about it **all year** and I've just been like, 'whatever' cause there have been so many other things going on and now he's dating Siren whom he hates cause he knows it's going to bother me!"

"Wh… Why does it bother you," Oliver questioned, his face contorted into an even more confused expression than I'd thought possible.

"Because he's **using my best friend!"**

"And how do you know this?"

"Because he hates her!"

"Then why is he going out with her?"

"TO GET BACK AT ME FOR CHEATING ON HIM!"

"Cheating on him? I thought you two just broke up."

"I cheated on him and then we broke up."

Oliver just shook his head, his hair spinning around like one of those big hoop skirts, "Should I just bloody him up for you cause you're really not being very clear on the actual situation."

I groaned, "As much as I would love to see you kill Tom, no."

"Then what am I supposed to be doing, here, cause I honestly… still have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, you're supposed to… care, or distract me."

Oliver sighed as he leaned forward, letting his hands fall to his slightly bent knees as he looked at me, "I do care."

"Then how can you just sit there and… write a letter!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know you were having a crisis – you were just pacing! Your hands were nowhere near your hair and you didn't rampage in screaming and growling at me. You didn't ask for a bro-"

"Well, _Professor,_ I've been trying to convince myself that it wasn't a problem."

Oliver's face hardened, "Aly, if you're going to be like this then just get ou-"

"I'm sorry," I sighed, actually genuinely apologizing. I know he's trying to help, but I'm just… on edge. As I started to confess my feelings to my boyfriend, he started towards the loveseat, finally collapsing on it next to me, "It's just… I know I should be happy for her in some twisted best friend way, but I can't shake the feeling that he doesn't really like her. I mean, he's never mentioned her during our meetings, he's never had her into the common room. I know Tom – when he likes a girl he can't shut up about her. Literally, whenever we were at Prefect meetings together we just had to talk over what he was saying about me. It was… embarrassing, in a sweet kind of way."

"Could it be he's, you know, changed a little?"

I wrinkled my nose up at my boyfriend, who had weaved his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his chest sometime during my rant. It was as I was running my hand through my hair that I finally responded, "I dislike that idea. I think it illogical."

Oliver laughed, "Suit yourself, but I think you ought to give Tom a chance. He very well could have… dealt with his issues and changed."

"You do realize you're talking about my ex, right?"

"He's changed in a way that is completely not for you. Better?"

I smiled up at him, ultimately a lot calmer then when I walked into the room, "Lots."

Smirking, Oliver placed what was probably supposed to be a single kiss on my lips, but very quickly turned into one very deep, intense kiss that felt like it was swallowing my soul and sucking my heart out of my chest through a straw.

Maybe I should tell him I love him right now; I mean, this intense of a kiss can't be one-sided, right? He's got to feel something, I'm sure. And even if he doesn't, he's polite enough to continue to date me for a little before dumping me and thinking I'm a freak little teenager, right?

It was luckily at that moment that my wand started to burn in my back pocket, and I breathed out a sigh of relief that I wouldn't have to think about it anymore. It's a horrifying concept, telling Oliver Wood that you love him. It's horrifying in general to love Oliver Wood.

I pulled away, swallowing my tongue back into its rightful place, "I, uh, I have to go." My voice was stereotypically breathy, and Oliver's breath puffed right back against my mouth. He tasted like he smelled – delicious. I couldn't get enough of it.

Oliver smiled, "I could write you a note." He leaned in again, and I flinched as my wand burned hotter.

I pushed away, using my hands on his chest and all my strength, "No, no, I need to catch Siren on her way out to see how it went."

Oliver sighed, his arm falling slowly from my waist as I stood up. When did his arm slip around my waist, anyway? Oh well, doesn't matter. I'm on a mission. I love being on a mission.


	28. It Ends Tonight

The first few words of this chapter came to me when I was three-quarters asleep during history class, but continued to write so that I looked like I was taking notes. When I opened my eyes and looked to see what I wrote, I'd actually written 'isn't that pretty.'

**Fun fact:** The number on Aly's ankelt, 011205202001, is actually her name.

01=A; 12=L; 05=E; 20=T; 20=T; 01=A

* * *

"Isn't that pretty," I heard Tom's voice comment just as I made my way through the portrait. I froze, a multitude of possibilities flashing through my mind. The comment was followed with a high-pitched giggle that had better be Siren's. Trying to swallow my fear and act natural, I leaned over the railing into the common room to say hi and tease the lovebirds.

With a pained breath, it occurred to me that I was also in the perfect position to barf when I saw that Tom had quite literally shoved his tongue down Siren's throat. Choking back the wretching sound that fought to make its way into being, I started pulled away from the railing to give them some more privacy. The problem was that Tom was faster.

His eyes shot open at the squeak that had actually survived, and locked with mine before I had gotten far enough away. That look, that predatory look that made him almost glow, caught my attention, though, because it wasn't really Tom. Tom was a sweet boy who would… take the port key home with me and buy me chocolates when I had a bad day.

Tom didn't look like a snake and wink at me knowingly while he's making out with my best friend. Well, he does, but not the Tom I know. Not the Tom I dated. I refuse to believe that I dated **that**.

With both hands tangled and knotted in my hair, I turned and was forced to use my knee to push at the door handle. I heard Siren call my name, probably confused as to why I didn't come down and hang out for a few minutes. Desperate, imagining her coming up the stairs, dragging Tom behind her somehow, I ripped my hands from my hair for a moment to open the door. I then promptly ran into my room, locking the door by shouting a charm as I dove hurriedly into my bed.

With a few shuddered breaths, I tried to process what I'd seen. I mean, it wasn't conclusive. He might have winked because he… he thinks I'm jealous. That's what all this is about – he likes her and he thinks my wretching sound was… jealousy.

You know, cause he knows I'm the kind of person who gets jealous of my ex-boyfriend shamelessly forcing himself onto my best friend, who actually has never had a real boyfriend before and probably thinks this is all going to fast but is too scared to say anything because she doesn't want to mess this up.

That was such a run on sentence. Maybe instead of thinking about the information, I can concentrate on fixing my grammar.

We all know I'm not logical, and that I don't do well thinking about what's going wrong when it's actually happening. I do better focusing on trivial things, like grammar or picking at my anklet or using my hands to comb my hair.

But as the image of Tom flashed through my mind, I shoved my head deeper into my pillow, feeling like more of an ostrich than a falcon; alright, so I would do better thinking about trivial things if I could actually continue to think about trivial things. That's besides the point. The point is that I need a point unrelated to Tom to think about.

_Oliver. There ya go, think of your boyfriend. If he can't hold your interest, nothing can. Isn't he a pretty boy? Very well groomed. Tom's a boy, too._ Well, there that goes. Now there is forever a connection in my mind between this and Oliver – both Oliver and Tom are boys. Of all the connections, that's the sorry one that came to mind.

_Quidditch. I'll ponder my feelings about Quidditch. It's fun, but dangerous, because my ex-boyfriend plays it and that's awkward. Hmm, ex-boyfriends. Birds, I'll think about birds. What can go wrong with birds? Tom knows I turn into a bird, that's what!_

I know, I **know** he's using her. I know Tom, even when he's all twisted and contorted into whatever he's become now. He… he knows me. He's got that kind of mind that he knows someone's weakness. He used to use that power to tease them, jokingly. Like it was for the good of mankind before, or something.

And he knows that if there is one thing I'm more protective about than anything else in the world, it's Siren. She's so… sweet. Innocent. And Tom's ruining that. This is just **cruel.**

_I have to tell her,_ I decided. I mean, I can't just let my friend walk straight into heartache now, can I? It's like not telling her that he's cheating on her, or something. Hell, it's worse – he never even intended to like her; at least if he had cheated on her he would've cared enough to actually be dating her at some point.

* * *

"Hey, Siren," I called out across the lawn to her, stepping into the unpleasant wind and snow that was Britain in the winter. Lord knows why Tom felt the need to drag her out here; probably just for some strange, sick pleasure of his.

Siren flipped her dark hair over her shoulder, revealing what I could tell was a cup of something with steam. Hot chocolate, probably, or tea. It kind of reminds me of Wood and I when we hang out in the Quidditch Pitch after hours, but Tom is nothing like Oliver. He better not be. "Aly? I thought you had tutoring today!"

I froze mid-step, my eyes growing wide. Oh, shit, Oliver's actually waiting for me right now; probably twiddling with his wand and muttering random Quidditch fouls in place of actual cursing.

"I, uh… blew it off." More or less. "Just for a few minutes – I really need to talk to you." I was halfway to them, now, and with a sickening jolt in my stomach I realized that the broad smile on Tom's face as he sat on the blanket next to Siren had the same glow that had been in his eyes just last night – predatory.

"Alright, what's up," the bubbly Indian girl questioned back easily, placing her cup of hot chocolate on the ground and smiling contently as Tom drew her closer. I flinched as I came up to them.

"Uh, this is really a private thing – no boys, you know?"  
"Nonsense – me and Tom tell each other everything, don't we," Siren cooed.

If I wasn't going to be sick before, it's an overwhelming possibility that seeing that just pushed me over the edge.

"Of course, honey bear." Alright, now that was **definitely** too much to take.

With a few stubborn breaths, I leaned forward and grabbed Siren's hand, turning to drag her off as she continued to scream and laugh at me for being so weird, even though I could tell she was annoyed. Now she's putting up fronts for this boy; what next? Dye her hair blonde? Grow a pair of wings?

I turned just as we were out of sight of Tom, Siren's face morphing from giddy to angry, "What was that all about, Aly?"

"I… I need to tell you something about Tom," I started. Siren's lip rose into a sneer for the tiniest second, and in that second I just wanted to shrivel up and die.

"What – his parents are Death Eaters? He's allergic to cherry lip gloss? What could you need to tell me that couldn't wait for five se-"

"He's using you to get back at me," I spat out. I would like to take a moment and dwell in the un-gracefulness of that sentence – what with the way it interrupted her and contained less tact than Oliver has in his entire body.

Siren's eyes widened, "Excuse me?"

"At the beginning of the year – he told me he was going to get back at me for cheating on him."

"Well it's a good thing he got **over you,** then, isn't it?"

I wanted to groan – she knew what I was getting at. I ran my hands tentatively through my hair before deciding that if there was any time to be nervous, it was now, "He hasn't, Siren; he's using you to get to me because he knows it will kill me to see you being used."

"Well then you're lucky that he's not using m-"

"Siren, would you shut up and use your brain for just five seconds? He winked at me last night while you two were making out; he's pushing you way too fast-"

"He waited five months to ask me out!"

"And then he nearly had his hand up your shirt before the first date!"

"I can't believe you'd stoop this low, Aly," Siren glared at me, her dark-brown eyes smoldering as they tried to burn a hole in me, "I mean, I get it – you're messed up after you broke up with Tom; you had that weird thing with that Elliot guy, but to try and convince me th-"

"I'm not trying to convi-"

"Why can't you just accept that for the first time in my life someone likes me," Siren cut off my cut off, her jaw set determinedly. I'd never seen Siren so… serious. It hurt, to have to see her like that. "Why, just because a guy likes me and he's over you, why do you have to try and ruin it? Can't you just get over yourself and let someone else be happy, for once?"

My stomach jumped into my throat as Siren walked away, nearly jamming all my other innards up and out. I felt… horrible. I knew that what Siren was saying would seem very right to everyone else – I didn't tell anyone about Tom's constant threats and mutterings about revenge. These suspicions seemed… unfounded, like the mad ravings of the typical ex-girlfriend.

But… but something just wasn't right. That smile, the way he looked at her… that wasn't Tom in love; that wasn't Tom feeling anything even close to love. That was Tom when… when he was trying to convince an old witch to buy us firewhiskey. And sure, he looked passionate, but it wasn't passion based on affection; it was based on sheer want.

Fighting the urge to crumple up into a ball, I instead squeezed my eyes shut and let my bones rearrange themselves into another familiar position. It happened within an instant, it seemed, but at the same time the time, the pain, continued to drag on painfully. I just wanted to not be here, to not know about any of this. Be a Muggle, only be able to be one species.

But with a strong flap of my wings, I tried to imagine leaving the world behind. I knew where I was going, and so I let the wind currents take me as close as they would to his window. And with a detached peacefulness, I landed on the windowsill and tapped on the window to Oliver's office.

He jumped, but I didn't even blink as I stared at him expectantly. Obligingly, he opened the window, allowing me and the few flurries that had started to come down in before slamming that same window shut behind me. Not minding the snappiness of his actions, which hinted at him being annoyed, I let myself drift towards the loveseat.

With a deep breath, I changed back mid-air, falling into the loveseat halfway through my transformation. My face rebounded enough to let me catch a breath before my normal-girl face found its way into the loveseat cushions, my hands doing nothing to help me as they lifted themselves half-heartedly to my hair. I kind of feel like wishing like none of that happened.

Oliver sighed, obviously sensing my distress and choosing pity instead of anger, "What's wrong, Aly?"

"Everything."

"Well, that's promising."


	29. You

_And I find peace when I'm confused, and I find hope when I'm let down  
Not in me, but in you  
I hope to lose myself for good; I hope to find it in the end  
Not in me, it's you, it's all I know_  
-You by Switchfoot

So. tired.

Well, inktounge asked for another chapter from Oliver's point of view, and I agreed that it would be a good idea, and so here is one. Mostly one, anyway.

* * *

Of all the things I was trying to focus on, I was trying to focus on Aly's breathing. It was supposed to help me remember to live in the now and ignore all that other stuff; the war that was going on, my allegiance to a certain Dark Lord that Aly thinks the equivalent of the devil. I'm trying convince myself that they are all trivial matters in comparison to Aly, sleeping next to me on the couch, right now.

After informing me that everything was wrong with her life, Aly spent an hour crying and ranting and raving about her idiot ex-boyfriend and ex-best-friend to me, leaving me to play the understanding, caring boyfriend role, even if in the end Aly and I know I don't care much about either of them.

And after that hour of crying and ranting and raving, she felling into a fitful sleep which eventually calmed down as I held her against me, trying to decide which would be better – to wake her, or to let her sleep? She's got to be exhausted – she apparently stayed up 'til all hours of the night worrying about this. But then again, is tossing and turning actually sleeping?

Of course, at that moment, my mark started to burn, leaving me cringing and squirming underneath her. So much for living in the now – I'd rather be in the five-minutes-ago time frame. I knew what the burning meant – a Death Eater meeting, and whether or not I was going wasn't a fact of the matter – I couldn't attend meetings; it would blow my cover. That didn't mean the signal discriminated and left me alone. Rather, I think it burns worse for me because it knows I'm not coming.

And now I'm trying to use Aly as a distraction, much like she used me as a distraction, from contemplating a rather important decision – the kind of decision that shouldn't be put off. Because if she's going to react badly to the news, I'd much rather it happen now then after graduation.

To tell Aly, or not to tell Aly. I suppose, if any of this lasts passed school, I'll have to tell her. Otherwise she'll expect me to come to Order of the Phoenix meetings, and then wonder why I'm not allowed there anymore. I'm just lucky Fred and George haven't had the heart to tell Ginny; if they had, Aly wouldn't have let me have a first chance, so much for a second one.

But the longer she doesn't know, the angrier she'll be when I tell her the truth. She's going to know, no matter what happens. When this war ends either I'll be prosecuted, or she'll be all but enslaved, subjected to every whim of the Dark Lord and I'll have no choice but to watch him try and break her spirit.

I don't know which I'm hoping for – to be put in jail but know she's safe, or watch whatever torture the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will have cooked up for her. Would I be brave enough to try and save her, to get her out of it? She probably wouldn't want my help, but I could try. Merlin knows I can always try.

She moaned a little in her sleep before burrowing her head into my neck, and I felt my body go stiff. She'd done this before, on the occasion that she fell asleep with me; her favorite position to sleep in seemed to be with her nose buried into the crook of my neck. Of course, it never makes anything easier, or clearer. It just makes me feel tense, and guilty. She's so comfortable with me.

I **have** to tell her, straight away. Either do it now or I'll chicken out.

I took a deep breath, my left arm wrapped around her shoulders as I started to shake her gently; she wasn't a light sleeper by any means, but I can always hope that one day, a simple shake and a breathy 'Aly' will wake her up. Heh, hope. I can have hope.

I started to shake her a little harder, using my indoor voice instead of the breathy whisper, "Aly." At that moment, I hissed, the pain becoming more problematic, and I knew what that meant, as well. He wanted a meeting, and he wanted it straight away.

_Maybe tonight wouldn't be such a good idea,_ I reasoned, my fist clenching as I attempted to stifle the scream that was so desperately fighting its way through my body, _She just went through that whole ordeal with Siren, and to find out I'm a Death Eater? No, no, not tonight. Another time, for sure._

I pushed Aly, slightly desperate, and with an attractive snort she bolted awake, "Wha-"

"Aly, I hate to wake you, but you really need to get going; I don't want you to get caught out after hours," I lied. She had a half hour, and therefore more than enough time to walk the three steps to the portrait she used to get into the Head's Common Room.

"Hmm," she questioned, forcing her head under my arm and shoving her head into my chest.

I paused for a moment, smiling at her antics, "Aly, really, you need to go." I wonder if she noticed if my right arm were to fall off… "I," I sucked in air between my teeth, hissing in pain, "I need to… grade more papers."

"What papers?"

"Quidditch stuff, very official."

"I was kind of hoping I could spend the night."

I froze, my position only a quarter of the way off the couch with Aly still clinging to my chest – she… she couldn't possibly mean what I really honestly think she means, can she? I mean, I understand, we're both young and… excitable, but-

"W… What," I finally was able to get out, realizing that I probably looked like an idiot, both for the pause and for the stuttering. Not that Aly is noticing – she's so far into her own world I'm surprised she's coherent.

"Tom can get into my room," she explained, "I don't feel safe in there right now. I had a bad dream, but I think it's real because it ended with me in here cuddling with you." Leave it to Aly to be absolutely adorable, logical, and completely mental all at the same time. "I can sleep on the couch, I don't mind. I just don't want to sleep in that dorm – the doors are enchanted to never lock so McGonagall can always reach us."

"How did you find that out?"

"I have very nosy friends."

Slowly, I sank back into the chair, mulling over the proposal. It would be very fast, yes, but then again it might be dangerous for her to go back to her room for the night. Tom isn't what I'd imagine to be mentally stable; they must have been real low on Head choices this year.

But both as her boyfriend and as her teacher, shouldn't I be more concerned with her welfare than anything else? Besides, she's the only one who can get into here while it's locked; she'd have plenty of time to hide in the closet if someone stopped by tomorrow morning.

Opening her eyes for the first time since I woke her up, Aly set her chin just below my heart and looked up at me, "Well?"

My Mark seered in pain; he was getting impatient, but he knew someone was in the room. "Yes, yes," I finally gave in, despite every instinct that claimed saying no was the only choice until she knew about my… allegiance. "Just… go get something real to wear to bed and meet me back here in an… in forty-five minutes." That'll give me enough time to speak to Voldemort and go make sure the apartment is… livable.

Aly's smile was contagious for the moment she flashed it at me before moving forward, pressing her lips against mine before bouncing up, "Thanks!"

The moment she slammed the door shut behind her, I fell to my knees, my eyes watering slightly at the pain. He'd let me have it at the next meeting I went to, for sure. His head flashed almost immediately in the fire place as I crawled on my knees towards it, the pain not ending, but not getting worse.

"Took you long enough, you filth."

* * *

I was so excited and nervous about spending the night in Oliver's apartment that I tripped over my feet four times as I hurried down the stairs from my room to his. Once I actually hit my head, and magically after that doubts started to form in my mind. The suggestion was kind of, well… suggestive. In the, well, suggestive way.

Ugh – see, this is how I know that I'm not ready for sex – I think of something sexual in the real world that pertains to me as being suggestive in the 'suggestive way'. If I could, I would give myself a round of applause.

Of course, this doesn't change the facts – I asked Oliver if I could stay over, and he said yes. There very well could be expectations; he could be excited.

But… no. He knows better. We've barely been back together for a week, and now there are expectations? I know it's possible to sleep in the same bed with a girl and not have sex with her – Tom was big on cuddling; I learned these things.

My legs locked as I stood in front of Oliver's door, which is completely the wrong place. Who's on duty for the sixth and seventh corridor? Can I easily lie to them? No, no, I need to just go in. I can talk to my boyfriend about everything, right? At least, I can talk to him about how I'm not a slut. That conversation would be very much allowed. At least, it had better be.

"Straw-crow," I muttered into the door, not wanting to bother knocking in case the Prefects were close by and heard me. God, I'm such a horrible Head Girl. I don't deserve to be a student, much less the role model for the entire student population.

"Oh, Aly," Oliver exclaimed from his place sitting in front of the roaring fire, "You… you didn't knock."

"No, I didn't want anyone to hear me," I explained, dropping my small purse filled with toiletries next to the door and figuring that we'd be leaving soon enough, "You okay? You're sweating."

It's true – his brow is completely covered, not to mention he's sitting in front of the fire on his knees looking pained and bewildered. Maybe I shouldn't be leaving him alone for long periods of time.

"Uh, uh, yeah, just… did you eat dinner before you came here? I'm starved." Oh, that was… connected?

"Are you… not feeling well because you didn't eat?" That would be a connection, in crazy land where I guess Oliver spends his time when I'm not around.

"Uh, yes," Oliver replied, standing and brushing off his pants, "Absolutely starved, honestly; I'm thinking of nothing else but food."

This is getting weirder.

"Are you on drugs?"

"What," Oliver turned on me, his eyes wide, "No, no."

"You sure? No… special pills or big, weird tasting brownies?"

"Aly, I'm fine," Oliver replied, smiling at me as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, "I'm just… nervous about cooking for you. It's a… big step in our relationship."

Did eating dinner just become a euphemism? "You do realize there will be no…" I paused, trying to decide how to phrase this, "**Cooking** tonight, right?"

"How am I supposed to make you dinner if I can't cook for you," he questioned, standing just a few inches from me and wrapping me into a hug. _He's so on drugs._

I didn't question him about the hug, though; hugs can be very nice. Especially Oliver's hugs – he's cuddly, "No, I mean no **cooking.** Like, you know, in the bed." That sounded just as stupid in my head, but I couldn't stop it.

Oliver snorted, "I figured as much, Darling; I'm sleeping on the couch."

Heh, right.


	30. Let's Give Them Something to Talk About

I'm very sorry to say, my dear readers, that I won't be updating next week. It's exam week for my end-of-term, and for the first time in my life I'm legit-failing two classes.

* * *

"Aly, are you alright?" I shook my head as Oliver stood next to me, his arm wrapped securely around my waist as the other arm gestured towards the stairway that had just descended from his ceiling. I shouldn't be so surprised – Trewlaney's classroom does that. I just never figured Oliver's apartment was above his office. It kind of makes me think of this whole room very differently. Like the first floor of his house.

"Yeah, just, you know." I lack anything to actually say, so instead I'm just going to make a mad dash for the stairs.

As I rose up into Oliver's apartment, the lights faded in and I whistled. One bedroom, but it all looked very grand. It's probably from the deep, richly color wood and all the scarlet and gold decorations, but still very grand-looking. An immense bed, more than big enough for three people, was squished next to a closet with two sliding doors, and I got the sense that Oliver had chosen a bigger bed as opposed to actually having room.

On the other side of the bed, under a moderately-sized window, was a love seat identical to the one in his office, and next to the loveseat was a door leading to what I hope to be the bathroom. For a moment, I stood a few steps from the top, gawking as I looked around at the apartment. So grand, and yet so small.

Taking no notice of me, Oliver walked passed me and turned on his heel to walk in the area behind me – the kitchen and a small café table with two wooden chairs. Counters filled the corner between the back wall and the wall with the bathroom on it. Then there was a stove, and then an extensive, disorganized bookshelf.

If I could whistle, I would have at that moment, "Oliver, your place is… nice."

"Thanks – home away from home, aye." Oliver was obviously preoccupied with digging through his large Frigo-witch, trying to decide what he wanted for dinner. "Do you want something homemade or do you want me to heat something up for you?"

"Anything's fine," I replied quite honestly as I finally made my way up the stairs. "I just don't understand how you get everything to fit in here."

Oliver looked over his shoulder at me, that impish smirk that I've come to adore gracing his features, "Magic, Aly. You go to a school where they teach magic."

I mock-glared at him before wandering over to his bed. Definitely big enough for the two of us to sleep in without any physical contact; looking at the love-seat, which seems to be the only other surface suitable for sleep, I don't think I'm willing to let him sleep on it, so either we're sleeping together or I'm taking the loveseat. Does anyone else get the feeling that Wood's not going to let me use the loveseat?

Across the room, Oliver announced what we were having for dinner, but I didn't care. There was something about his apartment that was just… fascinating. Experimentally, I sat on the edge of the bed, the bunched up comforters providing me with extra bounce. Comfortable enough. The blankets were soft, and they looked homemade.

The loveseat was covered in pillows, the only difference from the loveseat in the office. Interested, I scooted over to it and fell onto it, oofing with the force at which I hit the cushions. It was… comfortable. I wouldn't be able to sleep with these pillows all over me, but pillows are easily used to throw at Oliver.

The thought was striking, and so I wandered back towards my boyfriend. He was hovering over the stove, almost protectively; I decided, therefore, that it would be safer to jump onto the counter next to him rather than do something cute like wrap my arms around him or something. He might attack me like I was trying to steal his young.

"Oliver, I never realized you were such a chef," I commented. Oliver had a pot and a pan on the stove =The pot full of water that looked like it was just on the verge of boiling while the pan was full of raw sausages that were sizzling quietly.

Oliver's brow furrowed for a moment before he looked up at me, smirking in that impish way, like he knew he'd surprised me and was immensely proud of it. The moment our eyes met, I felt my heart start to beat – it had never been so startlingly clear to me that I loved him than it was right now, with him cooking for me, close enough not just to touch, but to feel. The difference was monumental in my mind; almost mind-blowing.

I gulped, the action stopping midway through my throat as I felt each individual organ shut down for a few moments before tingling back with new life, invigorated just by his gaze, which was slowly eating into me. Oliver's mouth dropped open, almost in shock at the sudden intensity of our gaze.

With a rebellious sizzle, a bit of the sausage-fat jumped out into the pan and onto my arm. It broke the moment, and Oliver cursed when he realized that his water was almost boiling over out of the pot. I jumped off the counter and rushed towards the sink to run cool water over the burn, which was starting to tingle in a very different way.

"You alright, Darling," Oliver questioned as he poured some pasta into the pot, and I nodded.

Of course, he didn't see that. "Yeah, yeah, a little burn."

The little burn left a red mark on my arm, and I fingered it carefully as I decided against sitting on the counter again. Instead, I sat at the table, looking around and trying to remember the look of his apartment. He had a few portraits up, in addition to the Quidditch teams and a few news clippings about recent Death Eater activity. The portraits were done mostly of the same view, just at different times of the day. Probably somewhere he'd been that he particularly liked. I'm surprised there aren't any Quidditch hoops in the distance.

"You mind grabbing two plates for me, Aly? They're just in the corner cabinet." Hey, look, a distraction.

* * *

I groaned as I arched my back, stretching the aching muscles as I straightened. After dinner, I decided to try and work on some assignments while Oliver caught up on some reading. But since I didn't want to risk going downstairs, where I could use the desk, and getting caught, I had instead took up my research on the rug just in front of Oliver's bed.

"Well, Aly, I've officially never seen someone so disorganized about their school work." Oliver was referring, of course, to the multitude of papers I'd spread around me for easier access.

"I'm honored," I yawned at him, "I'm going to go to the bathroom and then get to bed. You ready for sleeping?"

Oliver sighed, slapping his book shut, "Guess I am now. **Some** people have early classes tomorrow."

I yawned, "And had early classes today; don't forget I never have a block off."

Oliver smiled as he stood, catching me on my way to the bathroom and kissing me lightly on the lips, "I could never."

I could feel a tint of blush rising to my cheeks – something was supremely different about kissing Oliver when I was standing next to his bed. I was hyper aware of everything, and I couldn't deal with the intense suction in my chest just yet. I can only just barely stand the knowledge that I love him.

I slipped past Oliver, then, into the bathroom, sighing in relief at the ability breathe that accompanied being in a different room.

His bathroom was typical of Hogwarts – white tiles, a shower immediately on the left, a sink lining the opposite wall, and in the corner just passed the shower a toilet. I hurried towards the toilet to dig through my bag of things, quickly changing into my pajamas in an attempt to forget the tightness in my chest. We both specifically said no cooking tonight – I'm seventeen, for Merlin's sake. I have a little bit of control over my emotions and hormones.

_I probably shouldn't have worn shorts._ Well, I can't do anything about that now. I turned, and it was at that moment that I realized three things – I'd forgotten my toothbrush, there was a door on my left, and despite the fact that I knew I'd forgotten my toothbrush, my toothbrush was sitting on the sink in the cup I used to rinse my mouth.

_Guess it's like… the Room of Requirements… for bathrooms._ Shrugging it off as one of the many mysteries of the castle, I took my time brushing my teeth, smirking at the tentative knock on the door, "You decent?"

"Yeah." The reply was muffled, but Oliver got the jist of it and opened the door, his own toothbrush in hand. His eyes at first trailed along the floor, but he quickly met the reflection of my gaze, his nose wrinkling, "What're you doing with that toothbrush?"

"It's mine." Again, jumbled. Sighing and spitting out the toothpaste, Oliver attempted to convince me otherwise as I rinsed out my mouth.

"No, it's not – it's the girl who I have to share a bathroom. She'll have a fit if she knows you used it, probably."

Halfway through spitting out the water, I straightened up in surprise, _No way._ Water dribbled down my chin, soaking through to the collar of my PJ T-shirt, and I looked around the bathroom, _Not in a million years is this possible._

I took a few confident strides towards the door I'd noticed and threw it open with more dumb-curiosity than actual confidence or forethought. And sure enough, in the dim firelight that I'd left burning so that Tom wouldn't get suspicious, was my room, all blue and bronze and packed to the brim with different books.

"Aly, no, get out, she's r-"

"Relax, Oliver, it's my room."

To think – all this time when I cursed about the guy in my bathroom, it was actually just Oliver. It's kind of symbolic, if you twist it the right way.

Oliver froze midstride, and I could feel the heat of him through my PJs. I heard him chuckle, as opposed to feeling the vibrations through his chest, and he wrapped an arm around my waist as he pressed himself into me, "Well, would you look at that. You can't get rid of me now, even if you tried."

"Damn," came my automatic response, and I started to giggle at myself.

For a moment, Oliver and I reveled in the moment, and I thought how much easier it would be to sneak into his office from now on. Not to mention it would be really quick to get back here in an emergency without risking getting caught. I'd just look like I was coming from the bathroom.

And after that moment, Oliver and I turned back towards his room, letting the door fall shut behind us. Despite what could have potentially been a very big realization, I felt serene when I came back into Oliver's room; that is, until he dove onto the loveseat. Hold on…

"I'm taking the loveseat."

Oliver snorted attractively at me as he began to throw pillows onto the floor, "Like hell you are, Darling. Like I said, you have early classes tomorrow. I don't have to do anything until eleven, when I have a meeting with McGonagal about… things."

"So? You can't fit on the loveseat – your knees are hanging off it."

"You'd be scrunched up too – don't worry about me. I've slept on worse. I'm not letting you sleep here when there's a perfectly good bed."

"I'm not letting you sleep there when you have a perfectly huge bed."

"Aly," Wood knew all too well where I was going with this, "We said no cook-"

"There won't be any cooking! Maybe a bit of snuggling, but I'm not some sex-crazed teen. So either I'm on the loveseat or the bed - your choice."

Oliver was quiet for a few minutes, using one of the pillows to cover his face. It took me those few minutes to realize that he was trying to fall asleep. _Oh no he doesn't._ For a few seconds, I pulled at my hair, deliberating what I could do to get him up.

Smiling to myself evilly, I ran forward and leapt on him, landing directly on his chest. He oofed, but I just continued to sit there. "Aly, Aly! I'm not breathing real well."

"You're in the bed, Oliver – it's your bed."

Obviously frustrated, Oliver pushed himself up, and I yelped as he threw me backwards onto his stomach, his growl resulting in an animalistic prey and predator five-second soundtrack. As his momentum halted, Wood and I realized how close we were, and he visibly resigned. I could tell – his shoulders started to sag and he fell away from me onto his palms.

This would be a very inopportune time to bring up cooking, but instead he just watched me for a few minutes, deciding what he wanted to happen. Eventually, his arms shot forward and looped around my legs, and I screamed as he swung his legs and stood, leaving me to scramble onto his chest and wrap my arms around his neck.

Oliver's laugh rang triumphantly over my cry as we fell backwards onto the bed, his body crushing mine before rebounding. "Sleep," he growled at me, rolling off and quickly crawling towards the middle of the bed.

_Well, guess that's that, then._


	31. The Downfall

The next one is the one you've been waiting for; I wanted to do it in this one, but I had too much to say. So things will be resolved in the next chapter, promise.

More importantly, this chapter is only five and a half hours late. And, since I couldnt' update for the passed two weeks, I've put up the preview for an awesome video I'm doing about ALL THREE of my stories. It's under the title 'Savin Me,' so just search 'savin me lovincopperpot' and it'll come up. Hope you like it.

* * *

I smiled to myself as I felt the rare sun shining through the window and into my eyes. Well, more like through my eyelids, since I'm all cuddled up in Oliver's bed. A month later and I'm still sneaking into Oliver's room for bed; I don't trust Tom. Not at all. Just thinking of him makes me tug at my hair and itch all over.

So he and Siren are still dating, and he's still looking at her like she's just a… thing. Listening to them is absolutely nauseating. He's… he's not himself. And every time I hear him I try to believe that he's just changed, but it doesn't feel… right. I can't believe that Tom has changed that much in, what, a few months?

Needless to say my entire group of friends **hate** me. I tried to sit with them the day after our fight, and Willow actually poured pumpkin juice down my shirt. So much for 'friends forever.' Apparently Siren got preference over me. Maybe it's because I'm in Ravenclaw. Odd one out and all.

And all of that has made life pretty hard, or it would've if I didn't have Oliver and, this is going to sound a little random, but Ginny. Upon Oliver's urging, I started to hang out with Ginny at a meeting about… something… and what with my sudden free social-time we became actually kind of close. Well, me and her and a few of her guy friends. She's a guys girl, if you don't count Luna. Speaking as a member of Luna's house and her roommate for quite a few years, I am fully aware that Luna is… strange. But somehow Ginny offsets the weirdness, which makes Luna actually very tolerable.

I mean, I'm not saying I'm best friends with them, but think about it: I can't sit with the Slytherins because of Tom, or with the Ravenclaws because of Ben, or with the Hufflepuffs because of Siren and Penny; I'm a social outcast with everyone except the Gryffindors. I wouldn't eat with them, either, but Susan and Willow sit with Siren, so the Gryffindors are really my only choice. That or, you know, go and eat with Oliver. _That_ would be fun.

Oliver squirmed underneath my cheek, bringing me effectively out of my day dreaming, "You know, it's not that I mind having you over; really, you're a great bedmate, except for the fact that when you lay on my arm like that it falls asleep."

I would've rolled my eyes, but I'm not waking up yet. It's Saturday; I don't have anything to do until one, when I literally have to walk through the (shared) bathroom, get dressed, and then head to McGonagal's office for a briefing on… stuff. "Shush up – I don't want to get up."

"Well, that's great, love-"

My heart skipped a beat and my chest started to suck at my organs. I haven't told Oliver that I love him, no matter how certain of the fact I am. More importantly, Oliver has taken to calling me 'love,' and I am still really not alright with falling in love at the age of seventeen, and it all makes out for a very bad reaction whenever a word beginning with 'l' enters the conversation. I can only just manage to control myself enough to not put my hands in my hair. Oliver knows what that means.

"But I do need my arm." At that, I felt Oliver shift underneath me towards the far edge of the bed, and I remembered that despite the fact that I'm very, very, very stubborn, I don't actually want him to leave.

"No," I whined, wrapping my arm around his bare waist tighter and cuddling into him, "I'll switch to the other side, or whatever. Don't get up."

I felt Oliver stiffen for a moment before he leaned down to kiss me on the head, "You know I have to meet with the Quidditch captains today; I told you last night."

I felt my nose wrinkle, even if Oliver couldn't see it, "Why would you schedule a meeting so early?"

"I've got to meet with all four of those captains today, and some of them tend to go on and on. I thought it'd be better to get it all over with early since we were going to go out tonight."

"Oh, right," I bit my lip, "I forgot about that."

Suddenly Oliver's face was in mine, full of worry, "You didn't make any other plans, right?"

I rolled my eyes at him, shaking my head slightly, "Who would I make plans with? Ginny?"

"Well, I'm figuring you two will be close soon enough."

I groaned, breaking the eye contact that was nearly piercing my soul. I don't even think I want anyone to be close with another girl right now. That sounds really bad, but the lack of Siren and all made me realize just how stressful they actually were. Suddenly I can concentrate in class and get my homework done before midnight. And what with Ginny being very politically active, her drama would probably be on a much larger scale.

"Yeah, maybe when we're both out of Hogwarts and fighting the fight, but not now. I'm just not… emotionally prepared."

Oliver snorted as he rolled out from under me, and I groaned a little at the loss of body heat and the best pillow ever, "I'd hate to see what you were like after we broke up." I watched as Oliver pulled his closet open, reemerging with a thick, dark blue sweater. He paused midway through tugging it over his head, "You're happy in this relationship, right Aly?"

Whoa. That was… heavy. Not even heavy, but we were having a nice, banter kind of morning and then… he asks a serious question. I don't even have to think about it, but still.

"Yeah." Oliver's eyes locked with mine, and his face contorted into… something. Pain? Does he… why would he be hurt? Does he think I'm lying? "Really, Oliver; I'm happy." Where did this come from? Oliver's eyes fell, and I figured that some convincing was in order. So I jumped out of bed, shivering in my PJ shorts and tank top, and wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him lightly on the lips. "Really, honestly happy."

* * *

I blew out a breath as I searched around Oliver's cupboard, the growling in my stomach unmistakable. I was hungry, for heaven's sake. I slept through breakfast and I'm not going to have time for lunch, knowing my luck. At least, I don't want to have to go down to the Great Hall. Seven flights of stairs are not worth a sandwich.

Then again, I don't know my way around Oliver's kitchen at all, and in my fifteen minutes alone I've managed to find the eggs and butter. I ran a hand through my hair, glancing at the clock above Oliver's stove. Oh, yeah, I have the stove, too. Not to mention ten minutes before the first captain is due to show up.

I ran on the balls of my feet, grabbing onto the railing and using the momentum to spin me around and throw me onto the stairs. I heard the voices all too late – I was halfway down the stairs and frozen as the rest of the stairs crashed violently to the floor in front of me. I couldn't get back into the apartment in time; we were found out.

Oliver's face fell as when he looked up at me, the same images most likely running through his head. I mean, we're about to be found out in a Quidditch Captain. They're all responsible; they've got to be. And they are definitely going to know that there is something not right about the Head Girl skipping down from the ceiling in her PJs.

In slow motion, a red head spun around and a freckled jaw dropped as familiar brown eyes. "Oh my God, Aly."

_Well, it could be worse. Could be Ben._ "Uh, hey Ginny."

Ginny snorted, "Hey, Aly."

"Uh…" What can be done to make this less awkward. "We didn't have sex." Ginny snorted again, and I imagined what it would be like to die at that moment, instead of having my hands shoved so far into my hair that I could possibly have broken skin and be touching bare bone. "You want some eggs?" Ginny shook her head, and I smiled awkwardly before looking up at Oliver, "Um, I couldn't find your pan or your spatula or anything to make eggs with."

Oliver sighed before looking between me and Ginny, "I'll… I'll come show you. Excuse me, Ginny."

* * *

Blue eyes stared back at me as I looked over my reflection; according to a note I got from Oliver, Ginny has been "taken care of" and I'm supposed to look very nice for this dinner tonight. Lord knows what he's going to make me do, but due to the fact that I don't really have anything fancy, I'm kind of stuck in a muggle movie T-Shirt and a gray sweater with some cute earrings. And you know what? Oliver is just going to have to deal. How fancy of a place could we be going to, anyway? He's a Hogwarts professor – he's not exactly rolling in the galleons.

My pump-like heels clacked against the floor as I cut through the bathroom and knocked on the door to Oliver's apartment. Hearing a muffled yell, I walked in, immediately falling sideways onto the loveseat and hooking my legs over the arm. Oliver didn't take notice, probably because his back was to me.

_Oh shit,_ I thought, a hand running through my hair as I took stock of Wood's wardrobe. A pair of khaki pants, shiny shoes, and a long-sleeve, probably button-down black shirt. And I'm in jeans. I mean, Oliver looks unbelievably sexy, and it's not like I'm in jeans that I ripped up and practiced Quidditch in, but still; jeans.

Oliver turned, "We'll get going in a minute, Darling; you won't be needing that sweater – I was going to Floo there."

"Uh…" Yeah, I'm keeping the sweater, because other than this all I've got is a Ghost Buster's T-shirt. "I'm… cold."

Oliver paused, looking at me oddly as he grabbed a piece of paper from his counter, "Al… Alright, then." He then continued to bite his lip for a moment before reaching his arm towards me, "Come on, then; don't want them to give away our table."

"You made reservations?" I tried to pry my hand away from my hair, for fear of messing it up, but I couldn't; reservations? Why is this all suddenly fancy?

"Not exactly, but they know I'm coming with someone." He flailed his arm for a moment, "Come on, Aly."

I jumped up, feeling awkward as I hurried towards him, letting his arm wrap around my waist securely. He snorted, reaching up with his other hand and tugging my hands out of my hair before kissing the top of my head.

"You look absolutely gorgeous, Aly." Yeah right; I'm supposed to be in a sparkly dress with my hair in a high-swept bun, or whatever. Oliver nuzzled into the top of my head for a moment before stepping towards his fireplace, ducking under the mantle easily. I couldn't make out what he said, but in a heartbeat Oliver's arm tightened around my waist and we were being squished through a tube, pulled by our belly buttons and crashing into stone.

I felt my heart jump into my throat as Oliver stepped out of the fireplace, pulling me with him; this place was…. Fancy. Like, crystal wine glasses and fifteen courses kind of fancy. And here I am in a gray wool sweater and not even out of Hogwarts. I fit in splendidly.

A waiter, who resembled a rat in an almost uncanny way, waddled over to us, "Ah, Mr. Wood; we were informed you would be coming. Please, follow me."


	32. Swans

**Fun fact:** This story was the result of my realizing two stereotypes that I desperately wanted to break: that all Gryfindors were on Harry's side (hence Wood being a Death Eater) and the fact that in whatever story you read, Wood is nearly always paired with a Quidditch player (hence Aly's hate for Quidditch up until three quarters of the way through, and even then she's not very committed to it.)

Well guys, this killed me to write.

* * *

I cringed unwillingly and instinctually whenever someone looked at me; everyone was either in high end fancy robes, attire similar to mine and Woods, or black robes with the hoods up. Not to mention that I was nearly the only girl; there were other girls, but they didn't look… alright. One girl had hair like Einstein, and the other had a glass eye.

The rat-man, whose name was something in… Italian… ish… led the way through the assorted tables full of shady figures that were very interested in me. Oliver's hand was attached to the small of my back, and I felt my body stiffen and relax when he leaned forward, his breath hissing into my ear, "Keep your hair in front of your face."

I didn't question his instruction; it seemed more like common sense, right up there with don't pick hitchhikers or take candy from strangers. I bent my head forward, my hair spilling over my shoulders and obscuring my view of everything. I trusted Oliver's careful pushing and directing of my back to keep me on my feet and off the tables, and it what seemed like the longest few moments ever I felt the hardwood floors of the dining hall exchanged for a plush carpet.

"Thank you, Itings." Itings, Italian, I'm lucky I made out the 'it' I was so freaked out when I first came in here. I shook my hair away from my face, comforted by the fact that, wherever we were, it was at least in a private room.

The room, which was coated in a light tan, airy color, sported a fireplace and, opposite the single, oak door, a large window meant to offer a breathtaking view of the furious winter storm that was happening. If I had to guess, I'd say we were on the top of a mountain, around the edge of a sheer rock wall. Because as far down as I can see, there is no actual ground. Good thing Oliver was always wrong about my fear of heights.

The rat man bowed before he scuttled back out the door, and I could have sworn I'd heard him snicker. What's he so excited about? "Please, sit." My neck snapped; I'd unconsciously made my way towards the edge of the room, but Oliver had spent his time pulling my chair out for me.

I gulped nervously, the night suddenly twenty times more formal. Not that it wasn't formal before, but now there are manners involved. "Some crowd out there, huh?"

Oliver's eyes locked with mine as I brushed passed him to sit in my chair; an almost electric shock ran through my blood, and I got that horrible feeling in my stomach that by the end of tonight, this restaurant would've somehow rubbed off on me in a way that he would know that I love him.

He never said anything about the crowd, so I attempted to fill the awkward silence with another very important topic, "What did you end up doing about Ginny?"

My boyfriend snorted at me, "She's not telling anything; she understands the idea of forbidden love better than most."

"What actually happened?" We have no menus.

"We couldn't stop laughing at you, and then I asked her not to tell because we were in a very serious relationship, even if you had just come down in your PJs looking like a common call girl." I rolled my eyes, knowing better than to take offense; I don't even want to get into a fight with him. Oliver looks really beautiful in a button down shirt with firelight and the snow falling behind him. "You have to talk to her, of course, but she won't tell."

I rolled my eyes, "Of course I have to talk to her; that's part of being a teenager."

Oliver smirked, reaching forward for my hand, "I think she just wants to tease you, if that's any better. I don't think she wants to gush."

I nodded, jumping when the menus popped into place under my elbow. I bit my lip as Oliver's face creased, obviously trying to figure out what had been so scary about the menus coming up. But Oliver, finally exhibiting some common sense, left it alone and let go of my hand in favor of his menu.

I let out a breath as I picked up my own; the entire menu was in French, or something just as strange looking. What is it with this place and different languages? "If you need to, I can turn your menu into English." I nodded bashfully, and Oliver smirked. He whispered a few words, and the menu rearranged itself before my eyes.

I wrinkled my nose, "Did you know there's owl on this menu?" Oliver shrugged, and I ran a hand through my hair, "Maybe I liked it better in French…" Oliver's laugh rang through the room, and it comforted. Slowly, my hand fell from my hair, and I let my eyes scan over the menu until I found something with potatoes, cheese, and under the 'vegetarian' section. I'm not even vegetarian, but seeing owl on a menu scared me away from meat for the night. "Hmm, I think I'll have the Herbes de Provence Potato Gratin."

With a small pop, resulting once again in my jumping, the menu disappeared from my hands. This time, Oliver laughed at my jumpiness, shaking his head and muttering to himself. A few seconds later, his own menu popped away, and in its place on our table was a large salad bowl.

"Jeez, a multi-course meal? What's next, high class firewhiskey?" With another small pop, a bottle of firewhiske was on our table, and Oliver once again took the opportunity to laugh at my surprise.

"No, no, we wouldn't be needing the firewhiskey; something a little more romantic, please." My stomach constricted when Oliver requested romance, and I became even more nervous when a very old looking bottle of wine replaced the firewhiskey. My nervousness must have shown on my face, because Oliver reacted to it, "Do you want something else? Some butterbeer or pumpkin juice?"

"Uh, no." Butterbeer is not what I need right now, and getting pumpkin juice in a restaurant on the top of a mountain in possible-France seems a bit… wrong. Like it'd be an insult to their probably cavernous wine-cellar. "Thanks."

Oliver nodded, pouring both of us drinks, and biting at his lip. I recognized the movement as a universal reaction to being nervous, and I almost started to feel… claustrophobic. What if the reason Oliver brought me here to tonight was to confess his love to me? I mean… I can't… oh God I might be sick.

Oliver's brow furrowed as he released his lip from between his teeth, "Are you sure you're alright, Aly? You look a little sick."

"I'm fine," I lied, the words spilling from my mouth a little too quickly. "How were the rest of the meetings with the Quidditch captains?" Now I can just shove my mouth full of salad and let him talk. No need to be nervous about anything.

Oliver shrugged, "Nothing important happened. Ravenclaw forfeited the House cup, which actually makes my job a lot easier."

I nodded, _Hey, look, a cucumber._ "Did Ben seem upset by it?"

"Reasonably; he muttered a bit about you being a non-committed something or other, but I didn't pay attention."

"You didn't kill him?" Actually, I'm not surprised; with the exception of our relationship, Oliver actually has very good self-control.

Oliver smirked, "I wanted to, but I forced myself to remember that your being non-committed to him is the reason that you and I are sitting here, right now."

Oh God, there are the walls closing in again. And I thought Quidditch and his job was a safe topic of conversation. How could he work something romantic into that? I shoved another forkful of lettuce and dressing into my mouth and Oliver, obviously giving up on getting me to respond, did the same. The salads, though delicious, were small, and the moment our forks hit our plate once we'd finished them, the main course arrived.

Mine looked good enough, and rather than risk starting another one of those romantic conversations, I took a sip of my wine and then started to dig in with nothing more than a careful smile in Oliver's direction. Some date, but romance is so, so, so scary to me right now. I just… I don't know what I'll do if Oliver tells me he loves me.

Oliver, though, had a different idea. He **always** has a different idea. "Aly, I've got to be honest and say that I brought you here to tell you something." Oh… oh bugger.

Feeling nothing short of horrified, I looked up at him, his brown eyes glimmering in the dim light of the room and the snowy backdrop looking more sickeningly sweet than ever. "Oh?" I felt some of the cheese sauce drip down my chin, but that's what I get for talking with my mouth ful.

"Yeah, yeah, I did, and I know you're not going to like it." _Then why say it? We've got such a great thing going!_

"Who knew it would be snowing somewhere in the beginning of March?" Now no one can turn the weather into a confession of love. I mean, how could Oliver even love me?

"Aly," Oliver's voice, mixed with his slightly hardened eyes, proved that he wasn't going to work with the weather and try and change the conversation naturally – he was just going to make it clear that we had a topic and that topic was not the weather. "This is hard enough to tell you without you trying to distract me."

Oh… Merlin.

"I… did you see those men out there?" I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. "And they scared a little, right?" Nod. "Why did they scare you?"

"Because…" With a sick shock, I remembered my date with Ben, when I'd seen the Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. "Because they… were creepy. Like… Death Eaters and mugglehaters."

Oliver's face fell, and his gaze turned from me to his arm, which he limply plopped onto the table, starting to tug at his dress shirt's sleeve. Nervous, and not quite sure where any of this was going, I shoved a few bites of my dinner into my mouth. "Well, if you're scared of them, then you mine as well be scared of me, too."

Oliver's sleeve was about halfway up his forearm, but I wasn't looking at what he was trying to show me; I was looking at his face, which was contorted with pain and fear. I'd never seen Oliver looking so… horrible. He looked like he was going to die. "What do you me-"

"Aly, look at my arm." Oliver's eyes met mine, and in that brief moment of eye contact before my eyes started to well up with tears I realized exactly what Oliver was trying to tell me.

I shook my head, pushing myself away from the table when I finally looked down at his arm; the Dark Mark. "No, no-"

"Aly, please, let me explain, it's not who I am-" He was too late; I was already out of my chair and heading very happily towards the door. Suddenly, every bit of me felt dirty. Oliver was a Death Eater, a **Death Eater.** He was… despicable. He killed Muggles and wanted to eradicate all the wizards who weren't rich and inbred.

He reached out towards me, his hand easily wrapping around my arm, but I shook him and turned on him, my voice much louder than was probably appropriate, even if this was a private room, "NO!" Oliver physically flinched, but I took the extra moment to make everything very clear; this wasn't alright, this wasn't not a big deal. "You lied to me!" His hand fell away, but the words were all tumbling out too quickly for me to register what he was doing until after it'd been done, "Don't touch me."

With a powerful sniff and my hands easily slipping into my hair, I turned and ran towards the fireplace, wanting nothing more than to stand in the middle of the room, full of Death Eaters and murderers, and scream at them what they'd done; what they'd done to me, and what they'd done to the wizarding world. I wanted to show them the crying mothers, the dead fathers, the damage and pain they left wherever they went in those stupid masks.

But more than that I didn't want Oliver to see me. I can't stand the thought of being seen by him.

* * *

_By my side, you'll never be; by my side, you'll never be  
__Cause I'm fake at the seams, I'm lost in my dreams  
__And I, I want you to know that I, I can't let you go  
__And you're never coming home again  
__And you're never coming home again  
__By my side, you'll never be; by my side, you'll never be, you'll never be  
__I wanted to tell you I'd changed  
__I wanted to tell you that things would be different this time  
__I see you, you see me differently  
__I see you, you see me differently  
__You tell me that you love me but you never want to see me again  
__You tell me that you love me but you never want to see me again_

"Swans" by Unkle Bob

This song describes this chapter and the next so perfectly it's upsetting.


	33. Breakeven

Go listen to the song 'Breakeven' by The Script; it fits perfectly.

**Fun fact:** When I first started to post this story, I had the first twelve chapters pre-written. This is good because the week after I posted the first chapter my good friend Oliver, whom I was very close with at the time and who had been dating another good friend on and off all year, admitted that during the last month or so of school, while dating my friend, he'd been actually developing a large crush on me and grew to hate my good friend even more, though he still continued to date her. I got so unreasonably angry at him that I couldn't work on the story for quite a few weeks, and instead just posted what I had.

* * *

My skin burned a little as I lay in my bed, my eyes trained on the light blue ceiling of the Head Girl's Room; after Wood's, I'd gone to the Prefect tubs and scrubbed myself until my skin was raw and it hurt just to be wearing clothes. Of course, for fear that Tom would check in on me tonight, or that Oliver might make some sorry attempt at an apology, I put clothes on.

All I could think about was what I should do know; there were so many factors to consider. The students were in danger, which meant that I should have told McGonagal immediately when I got back. I could make up a story about how I found out – I walked in on him in the shower and saw his mark, or I had to talk to him about my quitting the Quidditch team and fell off my broom.

But I was nearly certain that McGonagal would be forced to fire him, and every time I thought about that happening something inside me stung and thrashed around, rejecting the idea fiercely. The truth was that I still loved him; I knew I still loved him, and that was probably a good three-quarters of the reason I feel so dirty, even though it hurts to move too much.

After all, Death Eaters don't have cooties; they may be evil, but they aren't contagious. I'm in Ravenclaw – states of mind don't catch. But I still love him; I love a murderous, evil son of a bitch. And I thought I was a rebel when he was just a teacher.

But no matter how hard I tried to force those adjectives onto him, I couldn't figure out how. If he was anti-muggle, a distinctive trait about Death Eaters, than why had he chosen me? He couldn't have known about my powers, but he must have realized at some point that I' not a pureblood. It's not like I keep it a big secret.

So then why date me for so long? Why be protective and caring and loving and absolutely perfect, except for the occasional foot-in-mouth incidents and twice-a-week fights? Was it just a game while he passed the time here at Hogwarts, waiting for the signal to Floo in Voldemort and attack the school? Why?

I refused to believe that he liked me – it's impossible to like someone whose opinions are so completely and entirely different than your own, it just wouldn't work – there would be no attraction, only repulsion. How could he have even imagined it? Was it all some sick game to him?

These were all things I wanted to scream at him in person, but found myself unable to pull myself from the bed, much less make the angry storm over there. I… I don't know quite why, but I'm pretty certain that if I went and tried to face him tonight, or ever, I just wouldn't make it. I'd get so angry and start to shake and before you know it I'd be flying away from the castle and he'd be lacking eyes.

I noticed that, in the few hours since I'd found out that he was a Death Eater, I thought his name as little as possible. I gave up on trying to not think his name altogether, but only when completely necessary. It made me shiver, and then there were tears in my eyes again. But I won't cry for a Death Eater; he doesn't deserve it. I should be grateful, anyway.

My hands, which were stereotypically tangled in my hair, started to scratch at my scalp, the idea that I wasn't grateful making me feel more disgusting than knowing I loved him.

* * *

Oliver's POV

* * *

I felt sick as I sat in the dining hall, my eyes trained on Ginny. I had to be careful to keep my eyes on Ginny; McGonagall knew that we'd been friends back when I was in the order. If I was watching her, then I was probably just being protective, or something. I wasn't actually watching Aly, giggling and pinching with Ginny, looking normal. It wasn't even as if she was only slightly back to normal; an entire two weeks had gone by and she didn't even make eye contact in the halls anymore.

It was like I never even existed, which was how it should have been, but it hurt. It hurt a lot and it didn't seem to ever stop. I couldn't use the bathroom anymore, that's for sure. And whenever she starts blaring those Merlin awful American pop bands I can only keep my banging to myself.

But what probably hurts the most is that I didn't even get the chance to explain; I guess in most ways it's good, because if she'd have stayed I probably would've thrown the fact that I'm shamelessly in love with her into the fact, and who knows what that would've done to her. She's the only girl I've ever met who can stand a two year relationship but suddenly develops asthma when someone mentions falling in love.

But she just had no idea why I was who I was, why I did what I did. She had to know it had nothing to do with blood, or at least not the kind of blood she's talking about. It's so much more than that, it's so complicated.

I wonder what she'd think if she knew I was sent here to find her. She'd probably get pissed and throw something at me. And then she'd somehow turn it into something weird about fate or circumstance or awesome detective skills or something. After she was done being angry, of course.

Nervous that I'd be caught staring, I looked down at my plate, half-heartedly sticking my fork into the goop and shoving it in my mouth. I'd been spoiled from having to cook for Aly. I had a reason to stay in the apartment during lunches if she didn't want to come down; now, if anything, I had to be down here. After all, I am a masochistic nut-job, and I just have to teach myself how to look like Aly does right now; not the blonde hair and the short skirt, but the happiness. I have to learn to fake her happiness.

* * *

Aly's POV

* * *

I gulped passed whatever tears had managed to sneak their way through that night, my eyes concentrating on the blurring ceiling as I tried to imagine what this room would look like if I was in Gryffindor or any of the other houses; blue seemed so calming, I couldn't imagine what the colors would do to my mind if I had to be surrounded by them all the time. Can you imagine coming back to a bright yellow room every day?

Of course, these thoughts were completely ornamental; in the back of my brain, the worst night of my life is being replayed over and over and over, followed by those three blinding, painful words flashing at me. I LOVE HIM. Because I do; I've tried everything I could to stop it, but in this past week a total of nothing has worked.

According to Ginny, Wood and I had a fright and had broken up; I figured she knew enough to realize why we broke up. I didn't want to have to say it aloud – it was scary. To be in love with a Death Eater. I think only my life would work out so imperfectly. It's because I rush things.

_Except telling him how I feel, completely._ Those thoughts keep rolling over me every now and then; what could I have done to convince Wood to give it all up? If I told him I loved him back in late January, would we still be together? Or would he have just told me sooner? Maybe he would've never told me at all; then I could be ignorant and happy.

I jumped when, through my blurred tears, something moved in my line of vision; the raven. It flew above me, the note spewing from the birds mouth before it flapped back towards my backpack, pinning itself securely to the strap.

My breath was jammed down into my lungs as the note hit me with a dull 'thud.' What was it? Was it from Wood? I mean, I'd have to assume it would be, but why would be he be sending me anything? It just didn't make sense. What did he have to say that had to wait a week?

I felt my muscles twitching as one hand crumpled into a fist around the note, the other knotting in my hair painfully. I managed, using one hand and my teeth, to pull open the note, which was hard to read because my hand was shaking so badly. Luckily, Wood's handwriting continues to be perfect and boxy, despite our breakup.

_You can come over whenever you decide you want to hear my explanation._

Something rose up in my chest; wasn't that what I wanted? An explanation? Despite every piece of logic and instinct of self-preservation, my curiosity found itself urging me out of my bed, through the bathroom and into his room.

When the door slammed open, Wood froze. His fists were still crumpled up, suggesting that he hadn't done anything in the last few seconds before I got the note. His face didn't do much to mask his expressions; he was surprised to see me.

"I… I didn't think you'd come so quickly."

My body physically started to freak out when he said those words to me; what was I doing here? An explanation isn't worth the agony that seeing him alone again is already causing me. I don't care why he's a Death Eater – he is one, and that's all that really matters.

"Why?" And that was my voice. I was just as shocked as Wood was to hear me speaking. "Why are you willing to tell me."

"Well, an… interesting man once said that, "the truth brings with it a certain measure of absolution, always." I don't expect you to understand, or if you do understand to change your mind about us, but I figure at this point you mine as well know everything, if you're willing."

Apparently I am. But my nose wrinkled, "William Blake never said that."

Wood shook his head, "Not him, R. D. Laing, that famous wizard who turned muggle psychiatrist." I nodded, mostly unfamiliar with the man's work.

Truth – what an interesting concept. I certainly hadn't been truthful with Oliver about my feelings in reference to the relationship. But I think his lack of truth trumps all. He's a Death Eater.

Suddenly, Oliver's smell overtook me; in my ponderings he had made his way towards me. And in that second, a man's words whom I'd never met and who was not William Blake forced me into action. Truth was absolute; I loved Oliver Wood, and no matter what truth he told me that wouldn't change.

Curiosity and logic were against it, but as Oliver took my hand, probably to lead me to the table so we could sit and talk, and I jumped onto him and attacked. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into, and I knew what was going to probably end up happening, but I accepted it. It was kind of poetic in a way.

Oliver's kiss made it very obvious that he knew what I wanted too, and either in shock or anticipation he started to back up towards the bed. He fell back against it, 'oofing' when we made contact. It was… wrong, but I couldn't stop.

Of course, at that moment, Oliver pulled away, his face making it obvious that he was prepared for the worst, "Aly, are you sure about this?"

The question sent a very new kind of shivers down my back; disappointed shivers. I'd always imagined that, when Oliver said those words to me, they'd have a completely meaning to them. More 'I don't want you to regret it because I love you so much' and less, 'Honey, I'm in Love with a Death Eater.' I guess that, if he's telling the truth, than it's already pretty heavy in the first one too.


	34. Stay With Me

_Stay with me, don't let me go  
Cause I can't be without you  
Stay with me and hold me close  
Because I built my world around you  
And I don't want to know what it's like without you  
Stay with me, stay with me  
I'm trying and hoping for the day  
When my touch is enough to take the pain away  
Cause I've searched for so long  
The answer is clear  
We'll be okay if we don't let it disappear_

"Stay with Me" by Danity Kane

* * *

I let my brow naturally furrow as I woke up, my head situated on Oliver's chest as I contemplated what had happened. I was… horrified. Horrified of myself and horrified of Oliver, an the combination resulted in a horribly degree of uncertainty. I couldn't bring myself to wake him up; instead, I was hoping that he'd stay asleep forever, so I'd never have to get up and face the world.

That doesn't make sense at all, but I don't need things to make sense; I need to forget what I did and who the man I'm cuddling with is. I gulped, trying to repeat William Blake's words to comfort me. I whispered them, nearly certain that I was getting the wording wrong, "Those who suppress their desires only do so because their desires are weak enough to be suppressed."

I'm accepting that as the entirety of the reason as to why I acted the way I did last night. My desires just kind of… overflowed, and Oliver happened to be the closest subject to one of those desires. Even if that didn't exactly make sense, it explains why I did it, and that alone comforts me. Really, what else do I need but the approval of William Blake?

Oliver moaned, "Are you going to keep saying that all morning?"

I froze; he's… awake? I spent all morning denying that he's able to be conscious and he's listened to my borderline insane mumblings this entire time? That's… not polite! Who does… Oh God. I have to deal with this.

My stomach jumped up and down, a very contradictory feeling to how still my heart, in addition to the rest of my body, was, "Oliver?"

"Yeah, love?" His voice was tired, and he smacked his lips as he started to rub at his eyes.

"Uh, I think we need to… talk. About…" Say it, Aly; two words. Death. Eater. Oliver's a… I know I can say it. I've said it before; in my nightmares, when I'm running from He-who-must-not-be-named. It might not be ideal circumstances, but I can say it now.

"I know we do; just let me get on some shorts, aye? Where'd they get to…"

I watched as Oliver shimmied out from under me, altogether shocked. He seemed so… casual about it. About _everything._ 'Let me get my boxer shorts, then I'll tell you why I'm the epitome of everything you decided to dedicate your life fighting against.' It just… How can he do that? The past week has been such hell for me, and he's trying to figure out where I threw his boxers last night while I was forgetting that the man that I'm in love with has a complete opposite moral standing.

Almost like he'd never left, Oliver shifted back under me, sighing, "Now, I'm going to have to ask that you don't interrupt me; you still will, and I understand that, but try to keep it to a minimum?"

In an attempt to comfort myself, I grabbed a hold of Oliver's hand. I'm assuming that I won't like this at all; not one bit of it. What part of this could offer me any bit of happiness? Still, I have to listen; I have to know. Then I can decide what I'm going to do, whether or not I can find some way to work through this with him. Maybe it's just a phase…

"It all started when I was about… twelve."

Or maybe not.

"No, before that."

Definitely not.

"When I was seven, I was given my first broom." Oh God I'm getting a full autobiography. "And I fell… absolutely in love." And so far, I could have predicted everything. "But I kind lived with… Have you ever imagined what it was like to grow up with Lucius Malfoy for a father?" Am I supposed to answer that? "You know, completely dedicated to the Dark Lord, mentally abused and essentially expected to be perfect?"

"Uh… I guess."

"Well, that was essentially how I grew up; my father was convinced that he-who-must-not-be-named would come back, eventually, even if he never actually… expressed his sentiments." Oliver took a breath, obviously trying to gather his bearings, "He, uh, we're from old, old blood. Pure in the most stuck-up way. To become a Death Eater was… it was like second nature to my father, but I just… didn't care."

That… was both expected and unexpected.

"I've always had a one-track mind, and since I got my first broom when I was seven, my eyes were set towards the skies. I just didn't care about blood or wars or fighting spells; the first thing I asked when I met people was what position they played in Quidditch. I was… obsessed, and my father hated me for it."

Of course, at that second, I was reminded of Ginny, and how she'd described meeting Oliver's father. He hadn't even looked at his son. But… I feel like the pieces are about to come together, and if I wasn't so horrified of the outcome I would've put it together already.

"When I graduated he gave me a choice: either never speak to him again or become a Death Eater. But I'd met too many great muggle-borns, and so I said no. It killed me - even if my father wasn't very supportive or loving, he was still my father, right? And it wasn't just my father, it was my mother too, and all my cousins - it was like losing a part of me. And then, at the end of last season, my father approached me; he said my useless talents might finally help. The Dark Lord needed someone to get into Hogwarts, and the only position opening up was the flying teacher's."

Alright, now this is all starting to make a lot of sense. And, as wrong as it is, I think I love Oliver even more now, if for no other reason than because I actually know something about him now.

"I… it was wrong. But… I was given a mission, and… and my father wasn't calling me a useless bag of hay." Oliver gulped, and I finally chanced a glance up at his face. He looked… like anyone who was reliving their past would; only his eyes were a bit more focused than I would've expected. He wasn't looking at me, though, and that was key. "I accepted, and here I am, now. My Lord-"

I flinched, fighting the urge to throw up when Oliver called him that. It was so wrong, so horrible. Nothing was alright about it. I reached towards my hair but Oliver, obviously on automatic pilot, reached up and intercepted it, lacing his fingers with mine. I worked with what I had and used my thumb to nervously start petting his hand. It worked, slightly.

"He never made me actually torture anyway, for whatever reason. He was really quite pleasant at the beginning, I think because he figured he'd get what he wanted from me more quickly that way."

I took a deep breath in, trying to think if anything had been left unexplained, "And… and before that you were in the Order?"

"Yes." That's… I can work with that.

"And you don't agree with what he-who-must-not-be-named is proposing, right?"

"Not at all."

"But you're here because you're craving acceptance from your family?"

"If you want to get psychological, yes." Oliver sighed, obviously hoping the questioning was done and I would pass my judgment. But I still have one more thing I'd like to know.

"And what was the mission they gave you?"

Oliver sucked in the breath he'd just let out, and I caught myself nearly throwing myself off his chest just to see his face. His eyes were slightly widened, but he was looking right at me. It was the equivalent of a deer caught in the headlights, and my mind immediately jumped to all sorts of horrible conclusions. He was going to kill McGonagal now? He was about to head an attack on Hogwarts?

"They sent me here to find out who the person is whose animagus was a falcon, and…" My heart stopped - he was sent here for me? Immediately, Oliver's voice broke when he saw what was probably unadulterated horror in my eyes.

"And what," I prompted, "Kill me? Track me?"

"Recruit you."

In that moment, time stopped, and I began to question my surroundings. Recruit me? As in convince me to be a Death Eater and work for Voldemort? How could he do that? _By making me fall in love with him; a stereotypical teenage girl would follow her first love anywhere._

"Darling, I didn't know it was you-" Oliver used both his hands, one of which had found its way to my waist, to pull me closer to him, but he was too late; I was out of bed and collecting my things. Oliver reacted to my actions by sounding panicked - was he panicked because I was leaving and he wanted me to stay or because I still didn't have a pretty tattoo on my arm yet? "No, Aly, please, I've been completely honest with yo-"

"Completely honest?" I turned on him suddenly, only in my PJ top and underpants, "What about when you told me you were on **Harry's** side, all the times that we joked about how ridiculous _your_-" I meant to say 'Lord,' but I couldn't physically form the words, "Your Dark… person-" That was obvious, "how ridiculous his arguments were!"

"I do think he arguments are ridiculous! And-" Oliver's voice fell, and he was very obviously ashamed of himself, "And I never actually said I was on Harry's side."

And at that moment, the anger started to bubble up inside of me; before I hurt, scared and confused; now I'm like a cornered animal about to fight back, "You fed me such bullshit, and all to try and turn me?"

"It wasn't bullshit, Aly; I didn't even know it was you! Not until you told me; and I… I got so scared that I broke up with you. I don't want you to have this life, Aly; I'd do anything to keep you out of it!"

Finally fully dressed and heading for the bathroom door, I turned on my heel towards him, "Oh really? Then why'd you come here to force it on me!?" Apparently this is how a cornered animal fights back.

"I wasn't lying about anything else! I really did see you for the first time over in Diagon Alley with-"

"Just shut up, Wood," I spat back, quite sure that I didn't want to hear what he had to say. I was confused enough. "I… I have to go think."

"I would ne-" I was through the door, trying to force myself to calm down.

He was here for me; he wanted me on his side of the war. _But he said he didn't._ I shook my head, my hands knotted in my hair and my arms flaying to either side of me. It didn't make sense, not logically; there was no real way for me to be certain of what Wood was lying about, and what he was telling the truth about.

As soon as I got to my room, I realized that just being in my room wasn't enough; I had to get out, I had to get away from Hogwarts, from anything that would remind me of Wood. For the split second that I was flying out my window, my arms were stretched and I felt like I was going to die.

It was dangerous for me to be morphing, but there was no reason for the school not to know; the Death Eaters know who I am, anyway. I heard people screaming - Lord knows why there was even anyone outside, but it's understandable for them to be screaming. After all, they're watching their Head Girl jump out at a height that would kill her.

Enough of my body changed mid-way through that I started to glide diagonally away from the castle, letting the wind currents take me away.

Above everything else I heard as I was falling, one thing stood out, and it killed me; for whatever reason, Oliver saw me falling; I know it was him. He was the only one at the school with a Scottish accent anymore. And he saw me fall, and he was screaming for me. But what got to me was that he sounded so… scared.


	35. AWOL

The wind beneath my wings was… comforting. The falcon instinctually wouldn't let me land in any place for very long, since somehow I was being hunted now, but I'm alright with just coasting around the forest until I have to get back to school. I have no idea what I'm going to do once I have to get back. I can't stay in my room, or with any other house. Unless, of course, Bry is willing to share her bed. But she's not even in my year, and if I remember correctly her year is still very immature. Rumors will be flying around – ridiculous rumors, but still rumors.

That's so far from what I need to be thinking about that it's ridiculous. I need to be deciding what to do about Oliver; this is one of those decisions that will affect my life forever. If I decide to trust Wood and come back to him, no matter how unlikely that is, and he's genuinely a Death Eater, then what does that make me? How could we bridge that gap in the relationship? Wouldn't it just be easier to break it off now?

But I've lived without him, even knowing he's a Death Eater, and… I can't imagine any relationship problem as being worth it. Maybe that's just me being a weak little teenage girl, but I just… I can't see it. It's ridiculous, it's horrifying. It makes me want to dive into the trees and never be Aly Darling again. The problem with that plan is that I can't get away with it.

So does that mean I risk my life, and the life of everyone at Hogwarts, by protecting Wood? Isn't that a little selfish? What if the Dark Lord attacks, and people get hurt? I'll always have to know that I could've done something to stop it – I could rat Oliver out and potentially save the school. But my recovery is… questionable. Apparently my love for Wood is so… so a part of me that without him there, for me to express my love to, I'm in physical pain. Which, for the record, I think is ridiculous.

Wishing that falcons could sigh, I let myself land on a thick branch, carefully changing back into my human form so that I could actually sigh. Once said breathing was done, I turned against the branch to lean against the trunk of the tree, watching the floor of the forest in hopes of somehow finding the answer. All I saw were a few squirrels and one oversized spider, though. How does that help with my dilemma?

Groaning, I fell back into the tree, running my hands into my hair and trying to forget how usually Oliver would grab my hands and let me squeeze his, even if they were rougher and not at all the same… consistency as my hair. Oliver's hands were just as comforting, if not more. And his chest was better than this tree trunk in almost every way. The bark is stabbing me and making me itchy.

"You are very lost, my student," I heard a deep voice call up to me, and I nearly fell off the branch at the voice.

I gasped as I looked downwards, slightly shocked at seeing my old Divination teacher standing at the base of my tree, his neck craned up towards me. "Uh, hello… Firenze."

"Ah, Miss Darling," Firenze commented, obviously just realizing who I was. He shook his blonde hair out of his face, "You are very far from Hogwarts, Miss Darling."

I sighed, "I know, I know."

"Are you lost?" I shook my head, slipping down off the branch and opening my arms in preparation for my wings. I landed, as a bird, easily on Firenze's back, and he nodded, not looking particularly surprised, "Well, that explains how you got out here."

I hopped from Firenze's back to the ground, transforming slowly back into human form so that I could talk to him, "Yeah, you obviously haven't heard about my jumping from my dorm window yet."

Firenze carefully shook his head, looking especially majestic in the twilight of the Forbidden Forest, "You jumped out of your dorm window?"

I nodded, trying to seem normal, "How are your classes going this year?"

Honestly, I missed Firenze's class; it was fun, and interesting. He actually taught me something about being able to tell the future, even if I never once was able to read the stars in his class. He gave me good marks, too. Not to mention it was really easy to take a nap in.

"Well enough," Firenze commented, looking down at me, "I'd suggest we start heading back to Hogwarts; hop on."

I was honestly not sure how to respond to Firenze's request; wasn't riding a centaur supposed to be really horrible? Like, not allowed, really degrading kind of bad? And do I even want to go back to Hogwarts just now? "I… I can fly, thanks."

Firenze's blue eyes sparkled, obviously intrigued… or something. "I appreciate your offer to help keep my honor intact." That's what his eyes are sparkling with. "But I saw you enough in my class to know you need to talk, and would rather not have you walking and slowing me down."

I rolled my eyes, accepting Firenze's arm to pull me up onto his back. I didn't realize how uncomfortable riding was, but the awkwardness may be owed to the fact that instead of a horse's neck, there's a human torso that slightly restricts movement. Then again, I don't have to worry about anything. Except for, you know, the fact that my boyfriend and my first love is a Death Eater whose sole mission is to convert me.

"So, what is troubling you, my most instinctual student?" I rolled my eyes. Leaning back and resting one of my palms on Firenze's rear end. I considered how open I should be with Firenze – I can't tell him everything, but can't I tell him a little? He isn't the most predictable person, but he seems caring enough.

"What… what have you been seeing in the stars, Firenze?" Maybe I can get my answers without actually telling him what's wrong, and once I have my answers I can fly away.

"Why don't you look yourself?" If I could see my old teacher, I know he'd be looking smug right now.

I scoffed, "You know I was no good at Divination; I don't have the inner eye." Firenze scoffed openly at the imitation of the older teacher.

"You were fine at reading the stars; your instincts were usually right. It was your lack of faith in the subject that was your downfall." Firenze sighed, craning his neck back to look at the few stars that were shining in dark redish twilight, "The stars foretell a rough night; a storm, possibly halfway through the night."

Firenze trailed off, and I felt my first violent urge towards my Divination teacher in who knows how long, "Anything besides the weather report?"

"The first few stars rarely tell anything else."

"How about your impression these past few nights? Anything?"

"I see that the war will continue, if anyone had any question of that at all," Firenze stated, his head still craned as his strides lengthened under me, making me nervous, "I see that a hero will soon emerge, though whether it is a hero on the side of the Dark Lord or the side of the young Harry Potter's I can't be sure." Well, that's the least helpful thing I ever heard. Almost. "I can't see anything specific, but big things are in the works."

I rolled my eyes, "Big things are always in the works – I wrote that on every prediction I ever made."

Firenze chuckled again, in a strangely upbeat mood. Once he'd quieted down, he turned to look at me over his shoulder, "What is troubling you, dear Head Girl?"

"What do centaurs think about love?"

"Love is destructive," was Firenze's immediate response. He continued after a few seconds, "Love distracts people, it forces people to make decisions in ways they wouldn't have made otherwise, it changes people in unimaginable ways." There was another pause, and I felt absolutely horrible about myself. Firenze just confirmed everything I'd spent the entire day worrying about. Love ruins everything. "But.." Firenze paused for a moment, "But love is all powerful; something done in the name of love is always forgiven in my culture."

I groaned, falling back almost completely, only just able to remain semi-upright, "That helps nothing!"

Firenze scoffed as the forest slowly started to thin, meaning we were getting closer to the school, "Love often doesn't, not really."

"Just get me back to school; I need food from the House Elves." Whether or not it's time for dinner, or dinner's still going on, I'm not going anywhere in public. I don't think I could handle the staring, the pointing, the shocked looks on people's faces when they realized I actually came back.

* * *

My hands felt comfortable and familiar in my hair, which was admittedly wet and newly washed. I'd taken the chances of being caught by Wood to take a shower, since I still felt gross and sweaty from my… activities last night. I tried not to remind myself that the hands that had wrapped around me last night were the hands of a Death Eater so that I didn't waste time scrubbing the 'germs' off me. It's not contagious.

And now I'm trying to decide whether or not to risk being with Oliver, or risk my life by turning him in and getting him kicked out of school. Certain words haunted me; certain words were always haunting me. Oliver claiming that he did everything he could to protect me, Firenze's explanation of what love is, in his views, Ginny talking about Oliver's father…

Nothing was making sense, but it was all flying around in my head, jumbled and cruel and torturing me. How could I know what was happening, what was actually the truth and what was all just a lie? Was there any actual lying? What Oliver said fit with what Ginny told me, so if he were lying he'd have needed at least three months and Ginny to do it. And that seems unlikely.

So at least I know that, at some point, he was good. At least, my version of good; right now he's his father's good. And none of that actually made sense but I'm just trying to piece everything together logically since my emotions are so jumbled.

Not to mention I'm trying to fit my being in love with him into everything. Does he actually know I love him? I can't really remember whether or not I said it at some point last night. And if he knows, is that going to change how he feels about his position in the war? Would it even be possible for him to switch sides again?

The real question – is it worth it to risk my emotions to tell him that if I think it's possible that it could help him to switch sides?

There are two parts of that real question – is it possible that knowing I love him could change Oliver's priorities? Yes. Yes, definitely. That's just what love does, right? It's a rearranging of priorities, or results in the rearranging of priorities.

Is it worth it?

I was through the bathroom door before the single word was coherently thought: _yes._ Yes, if knowing I love him could change his mind, it was worth it for him to know. Even if that meant him knowing that he'd gotten to me, that he was under my skin and a part of me, and even if it meant that he didn't change.

The bathroom was a blur, but that didn't matter. I'd seen the bathroom too many times to care about it anymore. I had tunnel vision, or something, but all I could see was the door to Wood's apartment. I trusted that he was alone; he's not social enough to have anyone over on a Sunday night. Unless it's a Death Eater meeting.

Before the door was completely opened, I started to shout, "Oliver Wood, I love you!"

* * *

_Maybe it's not over yet; somewhere inside him  
There must be some new dream awaiting the top of the rest  
When he finds himself feeling alive yet alone  
Maybe the best he can get is still out of his reach  
Ran from the life that he hates hoping to find some new beginning  
Abandoned the future they gave and took away, knowing what they would say  
Destined to rise above all the simplified answers they gave him  
Back there when surronded by love he could not make  
A sense of feeling alive yet alone  
Maybe the best he can get is still burned by his fate  
Yet he knows he's the champion of the planet  
But he's told he was wrong for somehow deciding  
To run from the life that he hates hoping to find some new beginning  
Abandoned the future they gave and took away, knowing what they would say_

"AWOL" by Yellowcard


	36. Rescued

So this chapter is epitomized by the song 'Rescued' written by Jack's Mannequin.

_And I'm thinking I'd prefer not to be rescued._

Perfection.

* * *

All I could concentrate on was keeping my hands from trembling as I ran them through my hair, staring at the floor of Wood's apartment. He wasn't here; he hadn't been here all night. I should have gone back to my room to think it all out, but I felt too committed to the plan to give up on it now. After all, I'd said the words; for all I know he heard them just as stairs were closing up.

It had been almost an hour, and the Ravenclaw in myself was dying to get back to my room and finish my neglected homework. All the teachers had slowly started what I liked to call the 'NEWT panic' and my homework was slowly starting to take longer than my allotted two hours. But I couldn't move, even if it meant failing my classes. I'm horrified of commitment, but I've committed, and that's that.

As if the continuous mental repetition of my commitment finally got through to him, the stairs opened and Oliver half-stumbled up the first half, freezing when he saw me sitting on his bed. He looked… old. Not old in a just-over-twenty way, old in a battle-worn way. I knew what that look meant. "Aly…"

"You were at a meeting?" I'm crediting Wood with enough intelligence to figure out which meeting I'm talking about.

"Err… yeah. I don't usually go, but he wanted me to see what was going on."

Obviously unsure of what else to do or say, Oliver shuffled the rest of the way up the stairs and walked a straight line to his closet. He muttered a few words and the side of the closet that was usually stuck, or so he'd claimed, opened, and Oliver shoved his black robe unceremoniously into it before sliding it shut again.

"So… have you made your decision?" I sat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to look at Oliver; now that he was here, and I'd seen his robe, I was having second thoughts.

"No."

I could've added that I had before he'd gotten there, but now that he was here I was all confused again. Who's to say that my loving Oliver will change him at all? And even if it does, what if that change isn't for the better? What if he takes it as him winning me over to his side? I'm not, I couldn't. I have too strong a sense of right and wrong to go against it.

Oliver's unnecessarily frustrated sigh made it strikingly clear that he was annoyed with me, but really I don't think he has any right to be. I'm the one with the huge decision here; he just has to wait. Then again, it would kind of be bitchy to come over here and not give him an answer.

"Well, God damn it, Aly," Wood cursed, sitting on the side of the bed closest to closet, the side where he sleeps, "Why the hell would you come over here if you didn't know what you wanted? I mean…"

"I _knew,_ Oliver; I just…" I ran my hands into my hair, trying to force myself into the commitment I'd been hell-bent on before Oliver had actually shown up. "I'm… confused again. I… I was going to tell you something, but you weren't here…"

Oliver cursed under his breath, which I was only able to understand because I wanted to know everything Oliver said in hopes of figuring out what he was thinking. I felt his weight shift and slide towards me, his hands tangling naturally with mine, "I'm sorry, Aly; just… just say what you wanted to. You don't have to make a decision."

"But if I say what I want to say then it practically makes my decision for me," I whined, not minding at all talking in the abstract. Oliver, among other things, doesn't need to know what I was going to say. Yet. I might still tell him.

"Just say it; I promise that I won't jump to any conclusions." Slowly, presumably so that I wouldn't feel rushed in any way, Oliver lowered my hands down and buried them in the familiar comforter of his bed.

"I…" It's not him jumping to conclusions I'm worried about… partially. Even after dating Tom for I forget how long, I'd never said I loved him. I never had loved him. I have no idea how it'll affect me once I say it or how it will affect Oliver. It just… it could go so wrong. "I…" I'm gonna have to say it at some point. "I came to say that I love you, Oliver Wood. And I know that you're here to turn me to the dark side and I know that you're a Death Eater but I really hope that you'll reconsider your stance because I've loved you since-"

I was cut off, thankfully. Apparently when I say 'I love you' I can't stop; I have to add qualifying statements, even if I'm pretty sure my love for Oliver is unconditional. I still love him and I know he's a Death Eater; what else could he do?

It's a very important to mention that Oliver cut me off by kissing me. And it wasn't just a short little peck; this was a real kiss, the kind that still managed to induce the tightness in my chest. It's ridiculous that I still feel like there's someone steam-cleaning and vacuuming in my chest when Oliver kisses me, even when I'd been so much closer to him. At the very least I know that either Oliver didn't hear, which is unlikely, or that he isn't scared by my loving him.

This kiss meant so much to me because of that; he isn't scared of me for it. He isn't freaking out and running away, like I would be if he'd said it to me first, and I didn't love him back. If he said he loved me right now, I don't know what I would do.

Oliver pulled away, and for one aching moment I died as he let his breath puff against my lips, "I love you too, Aletta Darling."

Well, now I have to figure out what I do.

…

To be honest, I just feel relieved. He loves me too; I'm not completely alone in the world when it comes to these feelings. It's just… he loves me. I can't even comprehend of the fact that he's lying. He couldn't be; no one would take their job this seriously. No, no, he's not.

At least I know he heard me.

* * *

It was the first week of April before I had the nerve to ask Oliver about our… issues. I didn't even really want to bring it up since we were working so well together. We were practically living together, and in almost perfect harmony. Sure, every now and then there were a few bitter comments, glares, and I couldn't forget what Oliver was, where he went every now and then with a robe tucked under his arm.

But on April Fool's Day, which I had luckily spent in my room since Oliver had a late meeting with McGonagall, I found myself being shaken awake at five thirty in the morning to have an emergency meeting and clean-up session because someone had painted the Dark Mark and a few choice, offensive terms under it on the door to the Great Hall.

None of the other students saw it, but I still had to listen to a lecture about it and discuss what could be done to protect the muggle-born students at the school. An earlier curfew was suggested, but then it was pointed out that if someone was going to go on an attacking spree, they wouldn't pay attention to curfews. Instead, all the muggle-borns were taught a spell that would immediately tell me, Tom, and McGonagall where they were via red smoke.

But the solution didn't convince me that the problem had actually been solved; there was still someone who was running around Hogwarts, obviously on what I consider to be the wrong side of the war. And I couldn't help but let it bother me that my boyfriend, my first love, might be involved.

Currently, Oliver was jotting down notes and such on the players so that he could better referee the final match of the year: Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor. Oliver's nearly jumping out of his seat getting ready for this. But I think what I have to say is a little more important; at least, it is to me.

"Hey Oliver," I started, glancing carefully up at him over my book, "Would you happen to know anything about the,,, incident on April Fool's Day?" This is very dangerous territory.

Oliver glanced up at me, also over a few pieces of paper, "You mean the crude comments on the Great Hall door?"

I nodded, "Yeah, that's… that's what I'm talking about. Do you know anything about… it's…" I could get myself into a lot of trouble. "It's creation?"

"You mean did I do it?" Oliver never did appreciate the subtlety of having tact.

"Or do you know who did it?"

"No, Aly, I didn't," he responded, his eyes narrowing just slightly, "I honestly can't believe that you think I did."

"Well, Oliver, it's not like I know of any other Death Eaters who hang around Hogwarts, and you've been going to a lot more meetings lately. And I… I just can't be sure."

"Aly, I love you; do you really think I'd do anything that I know you'd hate me for?"

"I don't know how you are when you're with them," I cried out, hating myself a little for starting this. "And don't you love your father too?"

"Oh, yeah, there's a valid comparison: you and my father." For a second, Oliver and I were both silent, but we both know that Oliver isn't known for his ability to keep his mouth shut, "Look, Aly, I told He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that I didn't think we were going to win you over in just a year so he's not bothering me and when I go to meetings I sit in the back and keep my mouth shut."

"Then why do you still go?" I'm just diving headfirst into the heart of the matter. "Why don't you just quit? Give him your two week notice and not go back for those two weeks?"

"Have you ever seen the Dark Lord?" Just the suggestion of quitting made Oliver visibly tense, his eyes widening to an unusual size. "You don't just go up to him and tell him you quit."

"Then we can go to McGonagall, tell her what's happening; she can protect you! The Order can protect you! He who must not be named won't send his entire army just because you don't want to work for him anymore."

"Look, Aly-"

At that moment, a puff of red smoke flared from an invisible source, thankfully ending the argument. A name flashed next to a blinking dot, along with the floor number and a map. I wanted to point at the dot and tell Oliver it was all his fault, but there are more important things at hand. Like a panicking third year named Travis Darter on the fourth floor of the castle by the portrait of the giraffe that changes colors.

"I have to go – Head Girl duties." I hurried out of the room before the argument could be renewed; it was something that needed to be talked about, but I was still uncomfortable with the subject. Oliver just didn't seem like Death Eater material – he was so sweet and caring. At least, he was with me. But then again I can't blame his father for it completely. I just… can't. None of it makes sense, and so I'm mentally rejecting the information.


	37. Rescued II

So I realize the titling might be confusing, but this song is just too perfect for them; I actually cannot physically get over it. It's Oliver and Aly in a song, along with 'High' by James Blunt. I'm probably going to have to fight not to make a third one of the same title.

* * *

By the time I reached the staircase, what was once a single puff of red smoke had turned into a hazy cloud of beeping red dots, all different muggle-borns in trouble. I coughed as I stumbled through the smoke, tripping over the first few stairs in an attempt to get to the one that I could tell was the closest; a girl on the fifth floor whose name escapes me but I can get to her quickly enough that her name shouldn't be important.

Luckily the girl, who was a nameless first-year Gryffindor, was straight down the hallway, probably confused about the floors and locking for the portrait of the fat lady. She was being accosted by two tall Death Eaters, distinguishable by their black robes and the skull half-mask that covered their face. By this time, the red smoke had faded, thanks to my remembering the spell to literally put them on hold.

I should have worried about a million other things, but the over-protective Head Girl in me just wanted to get those Death Eaters away from the first year, "Stupefy! Expelliarmus!"

I was ready to start making up words that sounded like spells just to scare the Death Eaters when, giggling at some unknown signal, they scurried away down a dark hall. That was another one of those times when common sense told me to worry about other things, and I remained blissfully ignorant to it.

"Are you alright," I asked the First Year, who moaned a response back at me about losing her wand. I nodded, honestly not concerned with her defending herself as I was about her getting to safety. "Alright, alright, we'll find it later, let's get you back to the tower, ASAP."

Luckily, she wasn't one of those bratty First Years and she willingly took my hand and let me drag her towards the stairs. I fully intended on continuing to drag her up those stairs when the floor of Hogwarts, almost the very foundation of the castle itself, trembled. This being such an unusual occurrence, since it had never happened in my time at Hogwarts, I tumbled onto the stairs, pulling the girl down with me.

Sensing the panic in the air as I thought about all the other muggle-borns being attacked, in addition to the two Death Eaters, the First Year started to quiver. She was probably confused just as to what was going on, having never seen a Death Eater or probably even had one described to her. I just kept pulling her once I regained my footing, praying that the stairways were in my favor and wouldn't turn.

Once I hit the seventh floor corridor, I realized there was an onslaught of students heading towards the Gryffindor tower for safety, supposedly alerted by the teachers. "ALY!" I let go of the First Year as she hurried towards a slightly familiar Second Year. It was only after she was securely in their clutches that I turned to whoever had called my name. Ginny pushed her way out of the crowd, fighting against the current, "Aly, what's going on?"

I shook my head quickly, "I don't know, but I think there's going to be an attack." I probably shouldn't have said that so openly in a corridor filled with panicked students, but it as the only thing I could think of.

"Do you know where they're getting in?"

I shook my head, "No, but I think it's somewhere in the basement. I'm just trying to figure out where all the muggle-borns being attacked are."

Ginny nodded, tagging along beside me wordlessly as we headed towards the staircase. A few seventh years and sixth years followed us, obviously planning on fighting in whatever battle was going to happen. Now, I distinctly fought my protective Head Girl instinct, accepting that we would need more than just the teachers and I if there was going to be any hope at defending Hogwarts.

For a second as the Gryffindors and I past the sixth floor, I took a second to wonder what I'd do if I found Oliver as a Death Eater, attacking Hogwarts. Would I duel him? Would I break down? Would I ignore him as if I'd never seen him? And, if I ignored him, would he ignore me? It would look suspicious if we just walked away from each other, but then again I knew I couldn't fight him, not seriously do battle.

I shook the thought off as I past the fifth floor, some of the Gryffindors trailing to go and explore the hallway, which was generally more populated than the sixth floor anyway. Everyone in the small group of warriors seemed to know what they were doing, including Ginny who I could tell wanted defiantly to march in front of me but was quite aware that she didn't have any clue where she was going. None of us did, though.

* * *

Oliver's POV

* * *

Just after Aly left, I tried desperately to shake what we'd been talking about off and concentrate on my work. I knew internally she was right, but I couldn't imagine going through with what she was suggesting. Tell the Dark Lord that I quit? No one just quits the Dark Lord; they're fired, or they stay. Being a Death Eater isn't just like a regular job at the Ministry.

Once I had managed to sufficiently fall into the comforting pattern of my work, it was disrupted by the sudden flaring of my fire, a snake-like head popping out and his red eyes glowing at me in the firelight, "Wood, it's time."

Just as suddenly as he'd appeared, the disembodied head of my master faded back into flames and I was left to process what he'd said. Time for what? I racked my brains for information from recent meetings, but I couldn't think of anything. Draco had been talking a lot, I knew, but I naturally tuned the over-polished blonde out before his haughtiness could somehow spread.

Suddenly, with a jolt of the stomach that was disturbing, I remembered the red smoke, and what Aly had told me it meant; a muggle-born was being attacked. And if the Dark Lord was involved…

Oh no, no, this wasn't good; I'd never dreamed we'd actually try something like this again. _I have to get to Aly,_ I thought to myself, the thought on repeat in my head as I stood, _I have to warn Aly, I have to get to her. She's in danger._ Before I could get away from behind my desk, however, the very earth beneath Hogwarts shook, and with an unfamiliar crack from the ceiling something fell loose and smacked me on the head, rendering me unconscious before I could even yell for help.

* * *

When I woke up what could have been years later in my office, everything was disturbingly still. There were no sounds of, the battle that I would have sworn had happened in my time spent asleep, nor any discernable cries of pain. As far as I could tell, there was simply no one in Hogwarts.

And then, as my head cleared, I picked up on more subtle hints of the battle: the dust and almost rotten smell in the air that was apparently the smell of the magic that held the stones together breaking. Outside, glowing brightly green through my window was a Dark Mark floating through the sky, the snake making sick loop-de-loops through the mouth of the skull. Had the Dark Lord won, then? Or had an overzealous Death Eater simply made a mistake and fired declaration of victory too early?

Finally finding the balance and state of mind to clamber to my feet, I was praying for the second. What would happen to Aly if they found out she was the girl they'd been looking for? Would she have the common sense to fly away, or insist on the nobility to stay and fight until the very end, even when defeat was imminent long before hand? I shook my head – this war was all she really wanted to be noble about; she'd give her life just to inspire others, if she thought her death would inspire others.

I shook my head, stumbling and wobbling down the hall towards the staircases, where I could see a thicker, lighter dust than I'd seen in my office. Luck was with me in some perverse way, and I could see Aly hunched over and half-pulling someone up the stairs with her, her wand pointed purposefully forwards.

"Aly," I called for her, coughing at the dusk. Half-heartedly, she turned, pausing and waiting for me to reach the stairs. Her glare was painful it was so sharp, but at least she was alright, and so was Hogwarts in some shape or form, "Aly, what happened?"  
"We were attacked by your cronies."

The pain in her voice was evident, and I knew quite well that she blamed me for the battle. It wasn't logical, though; I was knocked unconscious before the fight even began; how was I responsible at all for it? I felt more angry than I probably had a right to, but tried desperately to control it.

"Aly, th-"

"Death Eaters got into the school through an area in the dungeons that had secretly had the apparation-ban lifted in case of an emergency during the war; who else could have known about it? That information was only made known to faculty and the Head Boy and Girl."

_It could have been anyone!_ "Al-"

"They destroyed part of the foundation for the school and killed twelve people, Wood." The girl who Aly was supported groaned and shifted, and I realized with a horror that it was Ginny. Aly didn't wait for my response; she knew I didn't have any. "People who are able to heal wounds are rotating through the houses; I need to get these girls to Gryffindor Tower."

And that was that; Aly forced her way up the steps, Ginny trailing behind with what looked like a hurt ankle. I couldn't think of anything to say to Aly, and instead forced myself to turn away from her and make my way into the dungeons, where there was probably quite a bit of clean-up.

* * *

Aly's POV

* * *

Ginny hissed as Madame Pomfrey bent her ankle, "I'm telling you its broken, just fix it!"

"Are you a Mediwitch," the aging nurse questioned smartly, smirking at the silence she received in response. I giggled quietly at my friend from my spot at her couch-side, trying to ignore the fact that I should be in a common room that was blue, worried about my own house.

The silence was quickly broken, though, by a series of banging on the portrait door, "Let me in there, you fat old cow! I've got to get in there!"

For a few seconds, no one risked moving as the person continued to bang and pound at the fat lady, screaming other curses at her and guessing at the password occasionally. It only took Ginny a second, though, to recognize the voice.

"Harry!"

Even the most ignorant First Year knew enough gossip to know which Harry Ginny was talking about, and in one mass group they rushed towards the portrait to open it. I'm not quite sure how he managed to fight through the pack to get to Ginny, but he was there so fast I thought he very well could have been riding a broom, if he didn't have his feet firmly planted on the ground.

"Ginny, thank God," Harry breathed, falling to her side and taking her hand in one fluid motion. Instantly I felt sick at the display of obvious affection, the honest-to-God care that shined easily in his eyes as he looked over her for any injury than the one already being taken care of by a disgruntled Madame Pomfrey, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Harry." There was another few seconds that seemed untouchable, they were so engrossed in each other. This was probably the first time they'd seen each other since Christmas, or even earlier. It killed to think of being away from Oliver that long, and Ginny and Harry were on the same side. "This is my friend, Aly Darling. She's the Head Girl this year."

Harry looked up, noticing me for the first time. When his green eyes first made contact, I realized why so many girls were so captivated by him. He was absolutely gorgeous, even if he lacked a certain something; his eyes weren't brown, which bothered me immensely. Still, I was a little starstruck.

"Sleeping in 'Mione's old bunk, aye?"

I nodded awkwardly; Hermione Granger's presence in my room was forever declared by a small 'RW+HG' carved in the side of my bedside table. While it very well could have stood for any number of girls, I still am fairly certain that it's obvious who it is.

I nodded, and Harry smiled before looking back down at Ginny, that same sickening love emanating from his eyes. I felt sick, and quickly excused myself to go and check on my own house and possible start healing some more simple ailments. I just couldn't stand watching that happen, knowing what Oliver was, and that I looked at him that same way.

* * *

_Two to one, static to the sound of you and I undone for the last time  
And there this was, hiding at the bottom of your swimming pool some September  
And don't you think I wish that I could stay? Your lips give you away  
I can hear it, a jet engine through the center of the storm and I'm thinking I'd prefer not to be rescued  
Two to none, roads will lead away from this, I'm following myself just this once  
And I got spun, it appears you got spun as well, it happens when you pay attention  
Well this could take all year; but when it's quiet, does she hear me?  
Jettison to the center of the stom and I'm thinking I'd prefer not to be rescued  
_

_**Oh, I can feel her, she's dying just to keep me cool  
And I'm finally numb so please don't get me rescued, rescued  
And it's unclear, but this maybe be my last song, oh  
Oh I, I can tell she's raising hell to give to me  
But she got me warm so please don't get me rescued  
And oh say you'll miss me one last time, I'll be strong  
But whatever you do, please don't get me rescued  
Cause I'm feeling like I might need to be near you  
And I feel alright so please don't get me rescued**_


	38. Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

Well, if you checked my home page, you'd know that I didn't update last week due to extreme stress and fear of failing life outside of Fanfiction. I'm more sorry than I can say, but I got up a chapter this week in spite of pressing scholarly concerns and a sickness so bad I'm willing to kill whomever gave it to me.

Anyway, I was asked a question two weeks ago I thought it better to answer publically: No, this does not follow the story line as set out by JK, though it was a brilliant story line, past the sixth book. In my version, the trio graduated from Hogwarts and they've spent the duration of this story looking for Horcruxes. Mkay?

To make up for the lost chapter, I've made you guys a chapter. *squeel*

* * *

I took a few deep, calming breaths as I stood outside Oliver's office, my eyes closed and my heart pounding. I didn't know what I wanted to do, but God was I torn. I could still see the rubble in my mind, watch the battle happen as men in skull masks attacked students I'd sworn to protect and lead as the Head Girl. Tom was somewhere, fighting, though I didn't know who for.

And that was what Oliver was supporting; the war, the purebloods, all of it. Or at least, he was inadvertently supporting it. I hate to have the absolutist _'If you're not for us you're against us'_ mentality, but he's making it hard to forgive it. Had he even been fighting? I'd looked, but I couldn't be sure.

I shook my head, my hands lacing through my hair painfully. Maybe he hadn't been there; maybe he didn't know. Sure, he'd been going to more meetings lately, and that seems suspicious, but the Dark Lord is probably just angry because he hasn't turned me in.

I froze, suddenly quite unaware of my nails digging painfully into scalp; what if he's already told them? What if Oliver told them and they're in there waiting for me? Waiting to… kidnap me and brainwash me or… something. _But he loves me._ Or does he? I shook my head again, this time my hands flying from my hair and falling awkwardly to my sides.

Tears came to my eyes as a vision of Harry rushing to Ginny played for me, their love almost tangible it was so beautiful. I wanted that so badly with Oliver, but I'm not about to run into the enemy's hospital-area just to hold Oliver's hand while Draco Malfoy resets his shoulder that one of the Weasley brothers had to knock out while they were dueling.

In the midst of my shaking my head rebelliously, the door to Oliver's office opened and, mindless of whomever it was opening the door, I fell into their arms. I was grateful for the familiar sweater, chest, and arms that wrapped around me, Oliver's face buried in my hair as he caught me, "Aly?"

Before I could respond or pull away, Oliver stepped back into his office and slammed the door behind me, one arm holding me up and the other reaching for my hand and squeezing it comfortingly. I continued to shake my head into Oliver's shoulder, all too aware of what I had to do. I couldn't spend the war worrying about who I was casting a spell at just because the love of my life wants to please his father.

"I can't do it, Oliver…"

"Shh, shush Aly, you don't know what you're saying." Oliver laid a quick kiss on the top of my head, "You're just tired, come to bed." I shook my head into his shoulder again, tears painfully squeezing from the corners of my eyes.

"I just… I can't." I pulled away at that moment, too tired and worn out to force my way out of his grip entirely, "I love you too much; it's getting in the way, Oliver."

"What?" Oliver was very obviously confused at what I was saying, and the most heartbreaking fear was written across his face. "I didn't know they were going to attack, Aly, you've got to believe m-"

"It doesn't matter," I gasped a little for breath, my nose too stuffed up for me to breathe properly, "It's a war, Oliver, and we're on opposite sides."

"So?"

"So haven't you ever heard of Romeo and Juliet?" I know he has; some muggle culture had to eventually break through to our world, and Romeo and Juliet were tragic enough to make the cut. "It never ends well, and I don't want that for us."

Oliver shook his head, just a little, "I…"

"I'm a Ravenclaw, Oliver," I cut him off; anything he says, even if he's agreeing with me, is just going to be an excuse to not do this, "And that means I'm logical and I use my head. And logic dictates that this won't work." A pause. Uncertainly, I took a step away. "I can't spend the rest of these fights wondering whether if the Death Eater I'm trying to paralyze and attack is actually you."

"So you're scared?"

"Yes." Another pause. I could leave now, but I don't think I physically can. I need to know that this is what he wants, too, or at least that he understands. "You knew this was going to happen, Oliver, remember? You broke up with me back in January because you knew it wouldn't work-"

"I did it because I knew I was putting you in danger," Oliver cut me off.

"It's the same thing!"

"No it's no-"

"Do you know how Ginny got hurt?" Oliver glared at me during this pause. "She got hurt because the damn Death Eater sounded like you!" By this time I'd gained enough strength to step away from Oliver, but I'm considering stepping back so he can hold me again. I think I'm going to be sick.

"What?"

"I went to help her and the Death Eater called her love, and he had a Scottish accent, and I thought…" I shook my head, trying to shake the memory out of my mind. "I thought you'd turn and run away, but you didn't, and I thought I was hurting you but I had to and it broke my heart!"

I erupted into tears as Oliver stepped forward, catching me again. Only this time I knew he understood completely as to why I was crying and why I was doing this. "Shh," he hummed, one hand wrapping around my back again and the other twirling into my hair, forcing my head into the crook of his neck. "It's alright, it wasn't me."

"But it could be next time."

"I'd never attack your or Ginny."

"Then what about Harry? Or Fred and George?"  
"You know I woul-"

"I don't know what you would do," the response tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it. "So..."

I stopped, my breath caught in my throat; I had to say it. Every muscle in my body was fighting it, but I had to. I had to break up with Oliver. I couldn't, but I had to. Like how I want to turn around and walk out, but I can't. My body and my mind are fighting each other hysterically to the point that I feel like a three year old.

"So we're going on a break." The word kept tumbling, and even though they weren't what I wanted to say exactly they comforted both my mind and my body, "Until… until you tell your father and the Dark Lord that you don't want to be a Death Eater anymore or the war ends and somehow we can be together again."

"That's not fair, Aly." I knew exactly what he was talking about – the fact that I've just got to sit and wait for him to come back to me while he changes.

"Well do you want me to do, Wood," I stepped away from him, possibly for the last time, "This isn't some difference in opinion we can work through if we talk about it enough – this is a war. And the next time I pause because I think it's you out there someone could **die.** We ran out of time for talking about it and now…" My voice broke, tears fighting their way back to the surface, "Now.. now one of us needs to change drastically or this can't work at all."

Oliver's face was hard, but that was all I needed to know that he understood. He knew this was for the best, that much I was sure of. At least, I had managed to convince myself so thoroughly of it throughout the course of the argument that I wasn't going to be swayed. This was for the best; Oliver and I were going on a break.

And I'm walking out the door. I'm walking, I'm walking, I'm walking…

* * *

Time, after that, seemed to pass fairly quickly. After the battle, which was dubbed by the press 'The Battle of the Forgotten Exit", Ginny and her friends decided that I was officially a part of their group of friends and I was let in on the most intimate details of the Order of the Phoenix and other parts of the war. Not to mention all the random inside jokes and the general good time that comes with any group of friends.

I told Ginny that Wood and I broke up, and that was it. She didn't dig into any why or how; my bet is that she caught enough of the argument that he and I had while I was taking her up to Gryffindor Tower that she knows why we had to break up. She probably also knows why Fred and George couldn't be friends with Oliver anymore. They saw the same thing I did – a very confused boy who put family pride above what he knows is morally right.

Before I could completely register that it had been a month and a half since Wood and I had started break, with every week making it less and less likely that we'd get back together, But with the NEWTs, classes had essentially ended and every night I sat alone in my room cramming in the information I should've been learning throughout the year but couldn't due to other… obligations.

I never fully accepted that Wood and I were done, mostly because occasionally I hear him moving around in the bathroom while I'm studying or trying to sleep. It's distracting and it brings back very painful memories to remember that he and I once shared that bathroom… openly. But then he pauses by my door and I know he's thinking about it too, and I want to cry about it but at the same time it helps to know that he at least hasn't forgotten. And it's the fact that I know he hasn't forgotten, that he thinks about it, that makes me sure that we're not really done.

But NEWTs passed and when they did and I found out what I'd managed to pass and that I could get a job handling dragons for the Ministry and then graduation was coming on all too soon. We got a week at Hogwarts to pack up and say goodbye, and I got a sinking feeling that once I said goodbye to Hogwarts, if there was no sign from Wood, that I'd be saying goodbye to him too.

And that was horrifying, because just like I hadn't let go of the idea that eventually Wood would come back to me I hadn't let go of loving him. It's why I didn't fall into that horrible depression that I'd lived through back in January when we broke up. And if I leave and he doesn't promise that he's at least going to try and come back to me, I… I don't know what'll happen.

* * *

I took a few deep breaths as I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, my hair curled and pinned painfully, making it even more tempting to run my hands through it. As Head Girl, I'm required to make a speech that's supposed to inspire my classmates to strain to essentially reach my form of perfection. Yeah right.

With a shocking thump, Oliver's door swung open. I jumped and gasped, trying simultaneously to run out in embarrassment at having been caught staring at myself and also gather all my makeup together so that Wood doesn't know how much work I had to put into looking nice.

"Aly-" I froze halfway to the door, hunched over the makeup in hopes of holding it all into the makeshift basket my arms had made. "Aly, you don't have to leave, I don't really nee-"

"I was leaving anyway, its fine." In spite of my vain hope that Wood and I would get back together, we hadn't actually talked.

"Aly," he called out again, and I'd only made it another step towards the door. He sighed, "I'm trying, Aly." My heart stopped, and my chest started to suck at my heart in a deliciously familiar way. "It's hard and it's scary, but I'm trying."


	39. Whatever it Takes

No excuse I can offer will make up for my missing last week.

If it helps, I was getting my wisdom teeth out and have spent the time since madly trying to make up the work I missed while out with sickness and surgery.

Hope this chapter helps to satisfy everyone - you all have given me such lovely comments I feel endebted.

And I just came my philosophy class and am typing in the style of the teacher. Go figure.

* * *

I smiled as I waved at Ginny from across the platform, her red head standing out shockingly next to Professor Lupin's graying blonde hair. She smiled with an equally toothy grin back at me. "I'll see you at the end of the summer," I called to her, and she nodded before apparating away.

Instead of jumping into the war and work right out of Hogwarts, I'd given into my father's begging to come and join him in America for one last summer at home being his little girl. I just can't say no to my father. Nervously standing alone on the platform, I ran my hand through my hair and remembered Oliver. Really, when a thought that specific flies through my mind, I just can't help but think of him.

"Aly!" I spun then, thankful for the distraction. To my shock, though, it wasn't Bry or any of Ginny's friends running up to me, but Siren, her black hair braided and swinging along behind her. She had a nervous look on her face and was ringing her hands.

I felt the slightest urge to throw her in front of the train after how idiotic she'd been, but I repressed the urge due to so many witnesses, "Siren."

She continued to smile awkwardly as she wrung her hands, "I know it's a little late, but you were right about Tom. He was bad news."

"He admitted that he was dating you to get back at me," I questioned, more shocked at the idea than I'd been at Siren's coming over to talk to me.

Her brow furrowed angrily, "Get over yourself." Apparently not. "No, he's a Death Eater. He just showed me on the train; I broke up with him."

Tom's a Death Eater?

I think I called that.

Man, do I know how to pick 'em.

"Really, you need to get over that whole idea that Tom was dating you to get back at me; I mean, I get you had a weird year this year, what with Elliot and whatever it is you went through during January, but me and Tom were completely separate from yo-"

"Aly!" I turned on my heel once again, my heart jumping into my throat as I saw Oliver weaving his way through a crowd of sixth year girls whose eyes followed him longingly. Good thing he's coming, because Siren isn't annoying me yet but I can almost guarantee that she's going to say something very stupid very soon. "Hey, Aly," Oliver breathed, smiling as he stopped a little too close to me, "Can I just see you for a second?"

I nodded, expecting him to take my hand and lead me away from prying eyes. This was it; either Oliver was going to say it was over forever because he couldn't bring himself to disappoint his father or he was going to be my boyfriend for the foreseeable future. I was careful not to think forever; I just got over using the word 'love' a few months ago. Forever would be a big leap that I'm not ready to take.

Instead, Oliver surprised me; he always does. I heard a brief, "I've always wanted to do this," before he moved in, his hands tangling in my hair and his lips crashing blissfully into mine. All the chatter and goodbyes around us stopped immediately, and I was caught between laughing in amusement and killing Oliver for doing this to me.

Heh, and Siren's standing there watching trying to tell me I'm a lonely loser. This is irony. And perfect timing. God I have a good boyfriend, even if we're on break. I can take this as a sign that this break isn't forever, right?

Oliver detached himself from me a few seconds later, an amused and slightly dreamy smile on his face, "I just had to remind myself, you know?" I was midway through nodding before he kissed my nose lightly and apparated away, presumably to wherever his house was.

I turned then, trying to contain my laughter at Siren's jaw halfway between its usual position and the floor. "I… uh…" She stuttered for a few more seconds before she finally got out her question, "You mean you were dating him that **whole time?!**"

I shook my head, still trying not to laugh. I failed, letting a few snickers and snorts out before I could answer, "No, just when I was tutoring."

* * *

Summer was known for passing slowly in America. Not that I was ever bored, it's just that suddenly I don't have a million things to run around and organize and schedule. There was no homework, just a few very non-intensive job applications at various dragon preservations and one for a researcher at the Ministry. I'm pulling more for the dragon preservations, but they tend not to have as many openings for paid workers.

Other than that, my summer was completely commitment free until I was due to Floo to the Burrow midway through August. At that point my father would be going back to the United Kingdom and prepare for his teaching post at a small hospital, training mediwitches.

Jay, having finally figured out what he wanted to do with his life, was only home once every few weeks, meaning I lost my usual companion, and was stuck trying to find Muggles who weren't complete idiots to spend time with. Not that I have anything against Muggles, but I've also accepted that many of the ones who spend most of their summers at the beach come tanned and plucked and bleached by what can only be described as imitation magical means. There are some cool girls and boys who come and hang around, but they tend to only stay for a few days.

Of course there was also my father, who was good company, but he was also quite contented to sit on the roof just watching the Muggle world go on around him. I, personally, would go stir fry crazy from having to sit and look at the sky so long without being allowed to go flying. I think that's the worst part about the beach – falcons don't live there naturally, so I'm never allowed to change because it would look to odd.

Easily the most interesting thing that happened all summer took place almost three weeks exactly after school let out. It was raining that night and, lacking any better plans, my father and I had rented a Muggle movie to play on the television. Not the one with the man who looks like Wood – that would be too awkward – but a typical family comedy.

At first I hadn't heard the frantic knocking; I figured it was a tree branch against the door or something just as common. Then I remembered I was at the beach, not Hogwarts; there were few to no trees, much less enough branches to hit the door repeatedly.

There was no moment when I saw his face, no second when I saw the relief that obviously spread through his body the moment he saw me, but rather as soon as I opened the door Oliver Wood physically collapsed onto me.

I managed to catch him in my shock, but only just barely. His arms draped over each of my shoulders, the rain that absolutely covered him soaking through my thin T-shirt in a matter of milliseconds. His feet pushed tiredly against the floor as he fought to stand, but I didn't hold my breath for him to regain his strength.

"D-Dad!" I called uncertainly, unable to do more than drag Wood out of the doorway and wrap my arms around his waist to keep him from slipping. I wasn't even bothering trying to piece together what had happened, I just trusted that he wasn't this good of an actor.

"Yes, sweOH GOD," my dad jumped at the vision of a large Scottish man draped over his daughter, watching blankly as I gestured towards the door.

"Dad, can you please close the door and then help me get him upstairs?"

"Oh, yes," my Dad muttered, hurrying towards the door and closing it before turning to Wood, eying the entirety of his body awkwardly, "Where do I grab him?"

"Grab my wand off the living room table," I rolled my eyes. My father's perfect, really, he just doesn't function well with surprises.

"So, do we know him," my father questioned carefully, returning from the living room and handing me my wand. I would've had my father float Oliver up the stairs, but honestly I'm foreseeing my being slightly obsessive about his trip up the stairs.

"Yes, he's my fly teacher," were the first words that came out of my mouth. I very quickly had to think of a way to explain why, then, he was at our door, "He, uh, he and I grew quite close when he taught me to ride a broom this year, and he mentioned that he might need to stop by. I hope it's alright; slipped my mind," by the end I was mumbling, concentrating on remembering the spell for body levitation. It was one of those simple things I forgot easily.

Once I remembered, I told my father that I'd be down for the movie when I was sure he was alright and until then he could start it, if he so chose, or he could do whatever he wanted. Still slightly shocked, he nodded and watched as I floated my boyfriend up the stairs in front of me, the fact that Oliver is my boyfriend conveniently unknown to him.

Oliver looked absolutely horrible now that I could see him – all bruised and puffy and covered in small, thin cuts. He was shivering from being covered in the rain, something I could take care of when he was conscious again and in Jay's bed.

* * *

I sighed as I looked up at the white ceiling of Jay's bedroom, my head parked comfortably on the one part of Oliver that wasn't bloodied up and bandaged – his left hip. Even though it was bony, it felt good to be close to him again, to feel like it was the old days when we hadn't had to go on a break. It had been too long since I'd just smelled my boyfriend.

Oliver's stirring soon forced me to move, crawling up towards his head so I could talk to him quietly without my father hearing, "Oliver, you awake?"

"Aly," Oliver mumbled, his swollen eyes barely opening and his neck turning sharply towards the sound of my voice. I could feel him relax when he saw it was genuinely me, "Aly, I did it. They beat me for it and I only just got out; they want me dead, Aly."

"Shh," I cut off his crazed ramblings before they could even start, "Shh, it's fine. They can't get you here; no one knows we come here besides Siren, and she broke up with Tom a while ago."

"I hate that little snake," Oliver muttered, and I giggled lightly at him before placing a careful kiss on his forehead.

"I'm proud of you, Oliver."

"I like being with you and not having to worry about the Death Eaters finding out," Oliver confessed, the words surprisingly coherent considering I'm pretty sure even his tongue was swollen.

As I thought about that, a pang of guilt rippled through me. Oliver did this solely for me, I know. Sure, he didn't agree with what he'd been doing, but if I hadn't made him he would never have done it. He would have faked his way through the entire war, the rest of his life if they'd won. And here he was, one continuous bloody bruise from head to toe save for the dumb luck spot on his hip.

"Shh," I finally muttered, not quite sure why I was shushing him, "You go back to sleep; you're all bandaged up, you just need to heal." Oliver nodded, looking absolutely pathetic and nothing short of adorable. "I've got to go watch a movie with my Dad, so you just call me if you need anything, m'kay?"

"I'm sorry I came here," he blurted out, "I just didn't have anywhere else to go. I don't know what I'm going to do. I've already quite my position as teacher at Hogwarts."

"Well, I'm planning on heading to the burrow and then living at headquarters in August; maybe you should try coming back?" I held my breath, but Oliver had managed to fall asleep by the end of my suggestion. Apparently he's not **that** worried.


	40. It Finally Happened AN

My lovely readers,

It finally happened. Somewhere between the commute from school to home every weekend, the wire connecting my hard drive to my computer (that is, if my brother is right in his diagnosis) came loose and I am soon to be without computer. Sadly, it also means that the only computer I have access too (the old yet not-quite-junky one at my house) has nothing of my stories on it that has not been published for everyone to see.

What does this mean for you? Well, it means that it is virtually impossible for me to be updating during the school week until my computer is fixed (hopefully in a week). It also means, though, that I'll be handwriting everything, including my stories, and that I'll be home on Friday freaking out about my e-mail and the things I have to type, once again including my stories. If all goes well (here's to hoping) that means everyone will be updated by Saturday morning. This, in turn, means that getting out another update by Sunday would be an accomplishment to brag about for ages (it would, for the record, be 16,000 words, the equivalent of ten english papers) but also unlikely due to my work and school schedule.

I understand that my updates have been slowly growing more sporadic, something I hoped to remedy by updating on time this week, but this borderline unexpected event (I thought it would be my charger to give out, as it is nearly snapped in half) is simply on of the punches I hope to roll with. Knowing me, by the end of the week I'll be twitching at not having updated, which is good news for you guys.

My deepest apologies to you - I can do nothing but beg for your understanding.


End file.
